


Wagon Wheel

by DetectiveRoboRyan



Series: Forever It'll Be [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuuin no Tsurugi | Fire Emblem: Binding Blade, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Decisions, Canon Divergence, F/F, Family, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Feelings, Grieving, Growth, Liberal Use of Seasonal Metaphors, Lore? In MY Found Family Fic?, My Name is Ryan and in My Spare Time I Write Novels, PTSD, Past Child Abuse, Past Child Neglect, Post-Canon, Religious Themes, Teenagers, Trauma, Traveling, Underage Drinking, Universe Alteration, it's more likely than you think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2019-07-01 15:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15776970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveRoboRyan/pseuds/DetectiveRoboRyan
Summary: The winter after Nergal's defeat, Nino's uncle Canas and his wife Ivy perish in an avalanche in the mountains of Ilia. Unable to stay with Canas's mother without sacrificing her own mental wellbeing and unable to leave Hugh there alone in good conscience, Nino takes Hugh and moves south-- as far as she can go, until she stops feeling phantoms crawling up her back.The journey is a long one, and it takes them through Ilia, into Sacae and Bern, and over to Lycia, providing many familiar faces along the way, and a few hard lessons. But even when the walking is done and they settle down, the journey isn't over. Guardianship-- motherhood-- isn't something that ever just ends, and intentionally or not, it's what Nino has walked into.This is a story about family-- about growing up alone, finding a new family and having it pulled away, taking what's left of it into one's own hands, and learning to make peace with the loneliness one started out with. It all comes back to the beginning like the turning of the seasons and the rolling of a wheel, a cycle of growth and healing. It's tough, but at least Nino isn't alone.





	1. I-VI

**Author's Note:**

> "just fuck me up" -- ryan, 2018

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And the world goes racing, suddenly changed, as the shock of the exit leaves you trembling._

I.  
  
It's the summer of 980, Nergal is finished, and the world is at peace. Nino is there at the end, there as the other soldiers drop their weapons and breathe a collective sigh of relief, when Lady Lyndis, sweat running down her back, lets her head fall back and her face turn skyward so the beams from the rising sun can silhouette her in gold. Soldiers breathe, hug, clasp hands, and slowly the sighs of relief turn to cheers of victory, sudden elation sweeping through the army assembled that's just fought and killed a god. Nino hugs Rebecca, and Florina and her sisters, and her uncle Canas rushes over to check to see if she's alright, and she hugs him, too. Nino is exhausted and her ears are bleeding and magic scars smolder on her hands, but she is alive.  
  
She's there the days after, too, for the trip back to Pherae where it all began, and for people to collect their pensions and say their goodbyes and go back home. Erk goes with Lord Pent and Lady Louise back to Etruria, Rebecca and Wil catch a ride on a hay cart back to the little village north of Pherae proper, Farina and Fiora depart for Ilia. Lyn and Florina leave for Caelin after a long set of goodbyes. Hector returns to Ostia pretending he's not tearing up.  Uncle Legault melts into the night.  
  
Nino has no home to return to; nor does Jaffar, but he bids her goodbye and says he'll keep in touch before he vanishes too. Eliwood offers to get her a place in Pherae, but Nino pictures an empty village house and adjusting to normal life alone, and it makes her shiver. Canas, instead, says he'll take her in, and he's sure his wife will welcome her, and Nino accepts. She likes Canas, and would trust him even if he weren't her uncle. And there ends Nino's goodbyes to Eliwood and the few that remain, and she sets her tome down firmly, decisively, as if telling herself she won't need to pick it up again.  
  
II.  
  
So she goes with Canas up to the cold highlands of Ilia. They live in the north, not quite far enough that they get twenty-four-hour days in the summer, but pretty close, and so far away from any major city that if they want to get to Edessa, which is closest, they have to leave a day in advance to get down into the basin safely. It's cold on the mountain, and Nino doesn't handle the cold well, but she'll adapt. She's good at that.  
  
Canas' wife is named Ivy, and she looks so startlingly similar to the woman in Nino's pendant that Nino almost recoils, and the sentiment is evidently mutual because Ivy calls her Iris right at first, and Canas remarks to himself that that's one mystery solved. Ivy embraces her, and Nino doesn't know how to feel, but she figures it's okay to feel a little bit of something if she's reuniting with the only blood family she has left.  
  
But that's that, so Nino nestles into living with Canas and Ivy and their little son Hugh and Canas' mother Niime as well as she can. The house is small and remote but it doesn't feel lonely, and as Nino's place progresses from guest to family member, she learns— reading and writing and counting and the steps past that, and then reading lets her delve into the books on the assortment of topics Canas has piled up on every possible surface in his house, read them cover to cover and absorb the information within. She learns quite a lot about the history and geography of Elibe in the time she lives in Canas' house, as well as about the stars and the natural world, what things can be done with numbers and figures, the rules to games Nino's never heard of, the adventures of heroes both real and fictional. And from Ivy, she learns the basics of how to care for herself— she helps with preparing dinner and washing the dishes afterwards, hanging laundry on the lines and how to fold a bedsheet so the corners don't crumple, and how to beat the dust out of a rug and get your frustrations out along with it. She learns favorite recipes and memorizes them, and learns to count change quick enough that even Canas is impressed, and learns the safest and quickest route to the nearest village and where to find anything they send her out to get. She learns Hugh's favorite games to play and how to stitch up clothing when it rips. She learns things any other girl her age might learn, with no mind paid to the burn scars in her skin and the magic lacing through her fingers. And Niime kind of scares her because she grouses and grumbles and looks at Nino with suspicion, but it's not so bad, really-- and no one else is afraid of her, so maybe Nino doesn't have to be.  
  
The house is cold and remote, but as the summer turns to fall and Nino goes from fourteen to fifteen, it begins to feel like a home.  
  
III.  
  
Nino learns a few things about Ivy very quickly. Ivy is a sage, gifted in anima and healing magic and "so-so" in light, by her own admittance, but she admires the craft. She dislikes the cold, and says she still hasn't gotten used to how different the climate in Ilia is than the climate in Lycia (she says Araphen, specifically— the township she grew up in with her mother and father and twin sister, the township where Nino was born and the township where her family perished). Canas also isn't rich like her family had been, but they get along fine, and with how often Ivy refuses to take money from the villagers she occasionally tends to, they don't seem to be getting any richer. _It wouldn't be fair,_ she says, _to charge people who are just trying to get by._ Niime scoffs and says she has a soft heart, which would've made Nino shrink and rephrase what she said like it was wrong for her to have _opinions_ , but Ivy merely laughs, like she takes Niime's disapproval as a point of pride. And lastly, Ivy likes to talk.  
  
"It's such a shame, you know," Ivy tells her. Ivy looks a lot like Nino, which makes sense since she and Nino's mother were identical twins. Ivy is always moving, it seems to Nino, finding somewhere to put her hands, swirled with miscast scars that shimmer a faint shade of green when the light hits them just right— wind affinity, one of Canas' books said, and Nino's looking like the lines in cooling magma means hers is fire. "Lycia's so far away, I wanted to visit more often, but getting down the mountain is such a hassle. If I had a way with pegasi, I'd have flown, but we can't all be pegasus riders, really, as useful as they are."  
  
"Horsey!" Hugh says enthusiastically. Hugh, like most young Ilian children, is of the correct opinion that pegasi are very cool.  
  
"That's right, Hugh," Ivy tells him. "Though I think that Iris got all the animal talent in the family, so I wouldn't be surprised if you had some, too, Nino…" and on she goes, and Nino just listens, listens, except Ivy isn't chattering self-centeredly like Sonia always would while Nino brushed her hair for her, no, Ivy's talking fills the space with friendliness like when the dinner dishes clatter together over mundane conversation, like Nino's pencil scratching down daily entries in her journal that Canas suggested she keep to keep her penmanship sharp. Nino listens, but she doesn't feel ignored. She writes down words she sees in books but doesn't know— _illustrious, negation, expedient, cataclysm,_ all joining words she's learned already slowly increasing in complexity as the list wears on.  
  
"We were twins, you know, Iris and me," Ivy says, her voice growing wistful. Her hands are busy darning the holes in one of Hugh's tiny socks. "Runs in the family, you see— our father, your grandpa, was a twin, too, and you know about Kai. I'm still surprised Hugh wasn't one, but I suppose Elimine can't always bless us so."  
  
Nino feels a gnawing absence despite never really knowing him. "Mm-hmm," she agrees.  
  
"You look so much like her," Ivy continues. "You always did. I could tell right away you and Kai were hers— you've got her hair, naturally, runs in the family, but her nose and her ears, too. I bet you have her dimples, but I haven't seen you smile yet."  
  
"Sorry," Nino mumbles, despite not knowing what she's apologizing for.  
  
"Don't be. We'll just have to fix that soon." Ivy reaches over and pats Nino's cheek, and the corners of Nino's mouth tick upwards, just a bit.  
  
Ivy's chatter fills the space and makes it feel dynamic, alive. And Canas's own energy fills it with light just as well, and the two of them together make such a fantastic show of brilliance and wit that it's like fireworks, bouncing back and forth, until the house is bursting with such energy that Nino can't help but join in— and the brilliance of it is that they _allow_ her, that they _encourage_ her, and for a moment Nino forgets she was ever lonely.  
  
IV.  
  
Winter announces itself with blistering cold and snow so deep it comes up to Nino's knees. Hugh fusses at being kept inside to play, but Niime opens a window and he quickly changes his tune. Ivy scoops him up to soothe his tears and asks Niime _why_ she thought that was a good idea, and Niime scoffs and says _it only made sense._  
  
Ivy and Niime do not get along. Nino's pretty sure it has something to do with trying to teach Hugh dark magic from the tomes before he knew what a tome _was_.  
  
Ilian winters are harsh. Nino, scrawny as she is, shivers even wrapped up in hand-me-down sweaters and thick quilts, until Ivy teaches her how to make this tea that tastes awful but warms her right to her core.  
  
"You're just not used to the cold yet," Canas says cheerfully. "Why, by next summer, you'll be making snowmen out there with Hugh!"  
  
"Dear, you can't make snowmen in the summer at this altitude," Ivy calls from the other room, where she's stirring cranberries in a big pot of spiced fruit juice.  
  
"Oh, right," Canas remembers. He chuckles as if chiding himself for his absent-minded slip-up. Hugh imitates him with a giggle. "Well, next fall, then," he said. "Certainly at some point. When there's snow."  
  
"I'll take your word for it, Uncle Canas," Nino says, to be a good sport and make him feel better.  
  
Niime gazes with weary malcontent at the snow falling. "Heavy snowfall this year," she notes. "You two should be careful. Years like this make travel dangerous."  
  
"No need to worry, mother," Canas promises. Hugh tugs at his shirt, wanting to be picked up, and Canas scoops his son into his arms. "Last winter was harsh too, and we survived it. Besides, I wouldn't _dare_ die before I could start to teach Hugh magic!"  
  
"Magic!" Hugh repeats. "Magic! Magic!"  
  
Niime hums, obviously unconvinced, and looks to Nino with an expression Nino can't read. Whatever it is she's thinking about, she obviously doesn't want to share the rest of it with anyone, and goes back to glaring at the snowfall.  
  
V.  
  
There are avalanches in the mountains _every_ year, Canas says. It's nothing to worry about. But he frowns when he hears the reports anyway, and insists that they stay in the house, just in case.  
  
When one of the avalanches strikes nearby, Ivy decides she's not satisfied. She hands Hugh off to Nino and starts layering stockings and sweaters and coats, lacing up her warmest fur-lined boots and thick leather mittens embroidered with runes that'll protect her hands from both the cold and from casting.  
  
"Where are you going?" Nino asks, frowning.  
  
"I'm going to look for survivors," Ivy says, her face uncharacteristically serious. "The pegasus knights can't do everything."  
  
"Ivy, wait," Canas protests.  
  
"Don't tell me to wait," Ivy retorts. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can help."  
  
Canas's face is tense. "Then I'm going with you."  
  
"You fools will get yourselves killed," Niime scowls, from her favorite chair by the window. Nino wants to agree but when Niime speaks she forgets how to make her mouth form words. "You'll freeze."  
  
Ivy gets a very dangerous look in her eye, that Nino's seen when Niime makes disapproving noises about St. Elimine. "Then let it be known that I froze out there helping people where it matters, rather than that I saved my own skin."  
  
Canas passes her an elegant tome that glows orange when she touches it. Nino sees the fire in the hearth glow a little brighter. She fumbles for words to say and can't find anything, but she sets Hugh down on the rug like she's going to say something to them despite how foolish she looks when the words turn to dust.  
  
Ivy laces up her snowshoes. Canas ties a muffler around his neck and pats Nino's cheek, his hands shrouded in another pair of thick runed mittens. Nino doesn't know how to ask him not to go, how to say that she feels like Niime's right, how to tell him that he's the only family she has left and she doesn't want to be alone anymore.  
  
She doesn't know how. She says nothing.  
  
"Keep your chin up, Nino!" Canas says cheerfully. "We'll be back soon." He leaves no room for argument or protest, and Nino watches through the open door as he and Ivy set out into the freezing cold, watches until they're little black specks and Niime snaps at her to close the door because she's letting the wind and snow inside.  
  
VI.  
  
The second avalanche hits in the middle of the night when Hugh's asleep in his cradle. The noise wakes Nino from her guest bed they crammed into the main bedroom. Even though it's night, Nino feels like the world gets a little dimmer, and she feels tears bubble up in her chest and make her breaths come out as whimpers that she muffles with her pillow.


	2. VII-X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones, 'cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs._

VII.  
  
By the next day it's clear that Nino's uncle and aunt are one of many buried under the ice and rock that fell from the mountain. Scouts on pegasi dig up survivors, but Canas and Ivy are not among them, and as the days slip by Nino stops glancing through the kitchen windows expecting to see them stumbling back home along the snow-covered paths, and starts thinking about how she'll tell little Hugh that his parents aren't coming home.  
  
It turns out, she doesn't have to. Niime tells him instead, in that sharp tone of voice that makes Nino flinch every time, that his mother and father are gone so he ought to stop asking, and even if Hugh is only two, he knows by now that grandmother means business. Nino does, too, and she realizes it when she stops being able to unclench her jaw while Niime is awake.  
  
Niime seems to like her, at least. She crows at how obedient Nino always is, which is more praise than Sonia ever gave her, when Nino cleans house or does the dishes or finds her the right tome. Another Nino, one knew nothing but Sonia and the Black Fang, would've preened at such praise as being obedient. Who Nino is now only takes it as confirmation that she'll live until the next order. Like the time she spent free of Sonia never even happened, Nino falls back into old survival instincts— ask nothing, speak only when addressed, stay alert for any signs of anger, disappear when not needed. But she wonders, sometimes, if Niime even realizes she's only so obedient out of fear.  
  
  
VIII.  
  
Jaffar visits her when the days start to lengthen, when it's warm enough at high noon she can drag all the damp laundry to the outside line instead of hanging it all by the fire. Her hands ache; they often do, as she's the one to do all the chores now that Ivy's gone, since Niime is too old and Hugh is too young. Jaffar appears perched on the line like a big redheaded crow, and to Nino's credit, she doesn't so much as flinch.  
  
"You know, most people write ahead if they're visiting," Nino tells him.  
  
"I heard about Canas," Jaffar says bluntly. "He's dead."  
  
Nino sets her jaw, pegging sheets on the line to dry in the chilly mountain air. But she's not cold— nobody has the heart to get rid of Canas and Ivy's old things, so Nino takes what she needs and Niime doesn't care. She's used to that; Sonia never cared, either.  
  
"Sure is," she says.  
  
Jaffar blinks. "You're tense."  
  
"No fooling."  
  
He hops down from the clothesline, glowering at the house just because Jaffar always glowers. Smoke rises from the chimney. They're not high enough in the mountains that it's snowy this late in the spring, but it's still cold, and the remnants of the winter cling in mounds of icy slush even though it's above freezing, and the tree line on the mountain isn't far up the road. The rest of Ilia lies to the north, cold highlands and cliffs full of grazing sheep and pegasi and terraced vegetable fields, and Sacae to the south, all grass-covered hills and grain fields and the famous, ever-stretching plains. The winters are harsh, but not as harsh as they would be in the tundra even further north, and Nino's grateful for that. To her relief, Jaffar's wearing a coat and gloves.  
  
Niime goes over her tomes full of chants and incantations inside in the chair by the fire while concoctions distill and reduce over carefully-tempered flames that burn deep red, dripping through tubes and into vials that Nino has to clean very carefully, lest the potions get on her hands and blister her skin, which has happened before, and Nino has bandaged fingers and palms to prove it.  
  
He nods to the house. "I heard what the old lady is like," he says. "Is she treating you well?"  
  
"Better than Sonia," Nino shrugs.  
  
"That's not a high bar."  
  
"Well, it could be worse."  
  
"It could be better, too."  
  
Nino tsks, carrying the wet laundry basket on her hip to the next line, where she starts to hang Hugh's tiny flannel toddler gowns. It chills her fingers to the bone, her nail beds turning purple and blue. "I get along fine. I've dealt with worse guardians than a grumpy old lady, and had worse chores than laundry and babysitting."  
  
Jaffar scowls. "Just because nobody _beats_ you doesn't make it a good place to be."  
  
He has a point, not that that makes it any easier for Nino to accept it. She glances back at the house, where Niime hasn't so much as moved from her tomes in all the time Jaffar's been there, and keeps pegging the clothing on the line. She says nothing, and neither does Jaffar.  
  
She finally glares at him. "So what's your point? I'll guess you have one, unless you trekked all the way up here just to check on me."  
  
Her tone's harsher than she usually uses with him, but if he's put off at all, he doesn't let on. "You could leave," he says. "You've done it before."  
  
She could leave. Her hands hesitate in pinning the next wool stocking to the clothesline. She could leave, she realizes. It'd mean being alone again, since she doesn't expect Jaffar will stick around to babysit her (and she wouldn't want him to, anyway), but is being alone really worse than scrubbing chemicals out of Niime's glassware and stitching the holes in a never-ending parade of socks and sweaters?  
  
In the house, Niime stirs. Nino picks up the pace, feeling Niime's glare on the back of her neck. Her eyes are old, but Niime is far from senile.  
  
Jaffar shrugs. "Just a suggestion," he says. And then he's gone, and Niime's poked her head out the back window to ask who Nino was talking to, and Nino calls back _nobody, ma'am, just a lost traveler._  
  
IX.  
  
Jaffar doesn't visit again, but his words stick. Nino thinks about maps of the mountain passes she's seen on her errands to the marketplace and burns them into her mind when she's supposed to be using that time to buy food and supplies, makes mental lists of what she'll need to have in order to get down the mountain and into the lowlands while she's scrubbing her hands raw in the laundry tub. She memorizes when Niime rises and when she rests, and learns how to get around the house in the darkness without making a sound. She didn't plan to escape Sonia and the Black Fang— she considers it providence more than anything that the Pheraean army was there when it was— but she did escape, and the idea of once again tasting the same freedom she felt when she traveled with Lord Eliwood and his friends is enough to make her hands tremble. Whether they tremble with excitement or fear is impossible for Nino to tell.  
  
Hugh starts waking up with sniffles and sobs in the middle of the night, crying for his mother, and the first time it happens, Nino splits her attention between soothing him and listening for Niime's footsteps, which doesn't help anything, and her heart jumps into her throat when she hears Niime's grumbling and the shuffling of her slippers and her shape appears silhouetted in the darkness cast by the low candle burning at the bedside because Hugh's scared of the dark.  
  
"For goodness' sakes, quiet him," Niime barks, over Hugh, which just makes him cry harder and cling to Nino like a lifeline. Nino pushes down her instincts to run and cower (she's heard that tone with Sonia when she broke a plate, knows it means she'll get hit or shouted at) to rub her hand over Hugh's back and whisper that she's here, it's okay, there are no monsters. And she tries to keep the tremor out of her voice but Hugh knows, knows Niime is standing in the doorway watching the scene happen, and he has told Nino quietly that his grandmother scares him. But she leaves when Hugh's sobs fade to hiccups and sniffles, and a mote of tension leaks out of Nino's shoulders. Hugh sniffles, then goes quiet against Nino's chest, sucking on his thumb and clinging to her nightgown.  
  
"Want mama," he mumbles.  
  
"I know, Hugh, I miss her too," Nino replies. Nino's not sure how much of this Hugh understands, but he's only two, so she's not expecting much.  
  
Hugh sniffles. "Gamma scary," he says. Nino is inclined to agree.  
  
_We don't have to stay with her_ , Nino thinks. _I could bring you with me when I leave. I could take us both down the mountain and find somewhere far away. I could take care of you without your grandmother watching every move._  
  
She says none of this. "It's alright, Hugh," she murmurs instead. "I'll keep you safe. I promise."  
  
Hugh nods, clinging tighter. "Love you, Meemo," he says around his thumb.  
  
Nino feels her heart twinge with something she can't recognize— not even whether it's good or bad. "Love you too, Hugh."  
  
X.  
  
Niime's magic is formidable. She's searching for a protégé, someone to pass her dark magic arts down to when her life ends, even though she looks like someone who'd live to two hundred out of pure spite. Canas had told her that he had three brothers with her talent for dark magic, and of course he did himself, but it was dark magic that took their minds before they could unlock the real power of Niime's teaching. Hugh, likewise, probably has her talent as well, but he's too young for the spirits to show themselves to him, and any attempts at getting him used to dark magic just result in, as one (who isn't Niime) might expect from trying to expose a two-year-old to the spirits of darkness, screaming and crying.  
  
Nino's seen her considering, watching while she does chores, but has said little on the matter. Nino's seen the spirits, too, dark shapes sculpted from the shadows that only mages can see, elder spirits that hum in low tones and have names that human tongues can't say. Nino nods to them, respectful (she knows her way around spirits; she's seen them since she was five years old), but they do little but acknowledge her back. It's just as well. Nino doesn't understand elder magic, and hasn't tried to.  
  
"I suppose you'd make a good student," Niime says, making Nino's aching hands stop midway through scrubbing the oatmeal out of the breakfast bowls.  
  
"Ma'am?" Nino ventures asking.  
  
"You've all the makings of one," Niime appraises. "You see the spirits, don't you, child?" She walks around Nino, joints creaking but not hindering her movement much, and Nino's torn between freezing like Niime is a raptor who only sees movement and continuing with her task lest Niime get angry at her for slacking. She ends up freezing anyway when Niime touches her face, takes Nino's jaw in her hands and tilts it like she's looking at some antique in the store. Evidently, she sees something she dislikes, because her eyes cloud, and frantic, futile apologies bubble up inside Nino's mindscape using slices of memories from a childhood with Sonia.  
  
Nino's veins ache. She remembers nosebleeds, headaches, rubbing her ears and her hands coming away stained red— falling ill first on marches during the war, fainting at the most inopportune times, and after the war ends, Canas fussing at her for trying to light the fireplace with a spark from her hands.  
  
"Canas said I shouldn't use magic anymore," she says. "I see them, but I don't use their power."  
  
Niime clicks her tongue. "Magic fatigue," she says. "How old are you?"  
  
"Fifteen, ma'am," Nino says.  
  
Niime scowls. "You had a terrible teacher," she decides.  
  
_Don't I know it,_ Nino thinks.  
  
"Didn't he know a _thing_ about fatigue?" Niime grumbles at the idea of Sonia, despite not knowing who Sonia is. Was. Whatever. "To be this low on power so young. Must've had you use your powers like a battering ram."  
  
Nino thinks back. True, things changed when Sonia learned that Nino had learned magic— suddenly she had a whole set of new chores that needed it, like keeping the braziers lit and the bellows going at Black Fang hideouts. And then there were the practice sessions Sonia would have, standing there with her arms folded in displeasure while Nino repeated exercise after exercise, making huge bonfires and gales of wind, again and again like Sonia couldn't fathom that she held such power. Nino's nose and ears would bleed and her limbs would shake and her head would ring so fiercely she couldn't hear when Sonia said again, again, like she always did, and then Sonia would strike her until she did it again, or until she collapsed on the dirt of the training yard and someone, usually Lloyd or Linus, took her inside and Brendan placated Sonia.  
  
Nino doesn't notice her hands are shaking or Niime is still there until Niime snaps her fingers in front of Nino's face, startling her enough that she flinches. Nino bites down hard on her lip to make her hands stop trembling.  
  
"A shame," Niime decides. She tuts and shakes her head. "What a waste. Where is your teacher now?"  
  
"She died, ma'am." That, at least, Nino is glad for— she never thought she'd be so spitefully happy that the woman who raised her is dead.  
  
Niime studies her. Nino, to her credit, doesn't flinch, though she wants nothing more than to run and hide.  
  
"The webbing of death surrounds you," she says, in words that roll down Nino's spine like the water dripping off the icicles on the eaves, landing in tiny mud puddles that are everywhere in the spring. "It walks beside you as you live, catching those near you like flies. And yet, you do not die— close as you may come, with death as your companion, you live on."  
  
Nino thinks she knows what Niime means, maybe. She shapes her mouth around words because she thinks she's supposed to respond, probably, but she can't grasp any that her survival instincts approve.  
  
"Curious," Niime remarks. She pulls back, goes back to her chair with her tomes and her vials. "Dark magic suits people like you. But it would likely kill you the moment you tried, and that'd be a waste."  
  
"A waste of what?" Nino asks before she can stop herself.  
  
"A waste of life," Niime replies. "Life blooms best when it's surrounded by death, so I've found. Don't let it get to your head, though."  
  
Nino doesn't understand. She doesn't ask, though, and goes back to the dishwater.


	3. XI-XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When it hurts, you'll know it's the right thing._

XI.  
  
Niime makes a trip into the city, Edessa, at the base of the mountains. She does every other year around that time, after the snow melts— when wildflowers start to cover the grassy faces of the cliffs and valleys of Ilia and Nino starts washing mud and grass out of Hugh's socks rather than melted snow. It's a mage convention, or something like that, and Niime is very insistent that Nino pack up her recipes very carefully, so the cards don't spill everywhere. She's also insistent that she doesn't need any escort down there— Nino's to stay and take care of the house and look after Hugh, and it'll only be two weeks so it shouldn't be difficult, and Nino bites her tongue against saying that's what she's been doing for four months. So instead she holds Hugh on her hip and waves goodbye to the wagon as it rumbles down the hillside, and takes him back inside when it's out of sight.  
  
Nino makes him lunch. He digs into the stuffed roll with his little hands, eating fast enough that she has to chide him for it, and she does so by rubbing her hand over his head and telling him he'll get a stomach ache, and he does slow down and take a sip of his juice to wash it down, while drips of it and crumbs of food roll down his soft baby cheeks.  
  
She'd made lunch for herself, but she's not hungry. Still, she plays with the rim of her cup of sweet fruit juice, made from a mixture of berries that grew in groves on the mountainside. Hugh bounces his little heels off the spindle of the kitchen chair, which creaks, rocking back and fourth on one wobbly leg. He can't do that with Niime around— it annoys her, and she'd bark at him to sit still, or bark at Nino to make him be still.  
  
"Fank you for lunf, Meemo," Hugh says, with his mouth full. He's polite— Niime wouldn't stand for otherwise.  
  
"Swallow first," Nino reminds him. "You shouldn't talk with your mouth full."  
  
"Sowwy," Hugh apologizes. He takes another sip of his juice and spills it down his chin. Nino sighs, scooting forward to wipe it off on a dish towel. Hugh squirms. Nino doesn't let him wiggle away.  
  
Nino helps him wash his hands in the basin, which he has to stand on a chair to reach. The house is quieter without Niime in it— not because Niime is particularly loud, but because the house lacks the sound of bubbling concoctions and turning pages and the occasional request Nino bring her something or find a particular book on her shelf. Niime left her glassware behind, reasoning that she doesn't need to take it when it's likely everyone else brought theirs. Nino's not sure what that has to do with it, but Nino's coming to learn that not everyone has the same trouble asking for things as she does.  
  
But life goes on. Nino ties Hugh's shoelaces in double-knots and tucks his hood up around his cheeks when she sends him out to play in the mornings, and listens to him babble about the things he saw on that day's adventure while he follows her around in the afternoons. He doesn't like taking his nap in the afternoon but he'll fall asleep anyway if she carries him while going about her chores. He's still exhausted himself by the time the sun's started to sink, so Nino carries him to bed and tucks him in, and makes sure his stuffed pegasus is under his arm. And when she shuts the bedroom door behind him to take care of the evening chores, she realizes that it's not fear that makes her hands shake while she cleans up the dinner dishes— it's relief.  
  
It strikes her that Jaffar is right— she can't stay here. _Hugh_ can't stay here. Nino can't leave him alone in good conscience, and if there's ever a time to leave…  
  
Nino looks at the front door, and then back at the bedroom door, knowing that there's a map shoved under her mattress. She'll plan out the route they'll take in the morning.  
  
XII.  
  
She packs light. Some food that'll travel— hardtack, dried meat, cheese, some apples. Warm clothes, and extra socks and smallclothes for both herself and Hugh. A knife that Nino doesn't know how to use, just in case, and a tome she does, if the knife isn't enough. All the money she could find, tucked inside a purse she pins to the inside of her coat. An extra quilt, despite the bulk it takes up in the biggest bag she could find. But she manages to fit Hugh's stuffed pegasus in at the top anyway, even if the straps dig into her shoulders. She digs through Ivy's old things for expensive-looking pieces of jewelry to pawn, since it seems likely what little coin they have won't last very long, and finds two gold brooches. She's not sure how much that'll get them— a last resort, she decides, pinning the brooches inside her shirt. She pulls one of Niime's dark magic tomes off the shelf, too, in case the brooches aren't worth much and they still need coin.  
  
Maybe something else— Nino digs through the jewelry box again. When her hands touch another little clasped locket, she hesitates. It's a tiny silver thing with tarnish around the edges and an enameled cover, done like a dark bue starry sky, and it matches Nino's own exactly. Nino's fingers, with their ragged cuticles and blue nail beds, fumble with the clasp, but she opens it to a miniature picture of two little girls, both with green hair and identical pink dresses, holding hands, and a little pendant of cast bronze shaped like a figure with wings. Meant to represent St. Elimine, Nino thinks, knowing Ivy. She wonders if her family, the minor noble house of Morgenstern that she's never met, were all followers of St. Elimine.  
  
It's a question that Nino doesn't have the answer to, but she can probably find it if she looks. She tucks the locket inside her skirt pocket, and decides she'll give it to Hugh when he gets older.  
  
Hugh doesn't understand why they're going. He doesn't like the idea, either, even when Nino tells him— he frowns and sticks his thumb in his mouth, which makes it more than a little difficult for Nino to tie his fur-lined hood under his chin.  
  
"Gamma gonna be mad," he protests, around his thumb. "I don' wanna go. Get'n twouble."  
  
"She won't ever know," Nino replies. "We'll be gone before she gets back."  
  
"We come home 'gain?" Hugh asks.  
  
"We're finding a new home," Nino says. "Where you don't have to be scared of your grandma anymore."  
  
Hugh considers this. He's two, so it doesn't take much consideration. "Pomise?" he asks.  
  
Nino nods. "Promise," she says. "I won't let anything get you, Hugh. We'll be okay."  
  
Hugh likes the word okay. He nods to Nino, while she tucks his warm knit mittens into the pockets of his coat.  
  
Nino locks the front door behind them, and runs through her checklist. The dishes are done. The books are put away. The floor is swept. The laundry is inside. The windows are clean. And all that remains is the metal key in her hand, which she thinks about pocketing like she usually does. But she doesn't, and instead kicks it under the doormat. Out of sight, out of mind, she decides. She's not going back.


	4. XIII-XVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This is for the ones who stand; for the ones who try again; for the ones who need a hand; for the ones who think they can._

XIII.  
  
It's a long walk down the mountain. Nino takes the beaten paths, roads well-walked by merchants and travelers, roads paved over with gravel and stone. The melting snow in the mountains makes the other paths muddy— faster and more secure, but too big a risk to travel with a toddler. They take the roads leading south to Carrhae instead, even though it's far from the most efficient way of getting where they're going, to be absolutely sure that they won't pass Niime. The weather's fair for the first day or so— still cold, though, and Nino has to stop frequently to rub warmth back into Hugh's little fingers. They stop for lunch at a hillside campsite and share a meal with a passing merchant caravan, and wait there until Nino's legs stop aching. They have a short dinner break when the sun starts to set, and Nino carries Hugh on her hip while she looks for a place to rest for the night.  
  
She didn't have room to pack bedrolls or a tent or anything like that, but she makes do. She lights them a fire for warmth against the alpine night and folds the quilt she brought enough times it's a cushion for Hugh against the ground, and covers him with her purple cape, his stuffed pegasus in the crook of his arm and his thumb in his mouth. Nino leans against the bulky backpack and tries to make the cape cover as much of him as it can. She doesn't believe in inanimate objects having spirits, but she silently asks the cape to keep him warm like it did for her for so many nights. Nino shivers, but she's been through colder nights and lived to tell.  
  
Hugh sleeps. Nino watches the moon rise and the fire smolder and pokes it with a stick to keep it alive. The stars glimmer overhead, an infinity sprawling out into the inky void. Nino counts them in twos and threes and listens to the quiet mountain night until the red-orange dawn washes them back into blue.  
  
XIV.  
  
It's slow going down the mountain, and even so through the lower passes. When the weather's clear, they walk— when it's not clear, Nino finds shelter where she can, be it under a rocky overhang or under the roof of a good samaritan, and waits out the storms. Sometimes she'll conjure sparks at her fingertips for Hugh to watch and clap his little hands, and sometimes her nose and ears bleed and her head aches too much for her to do magic so she'll tell him stories about knights and adventurers. Nino can't think of many stories all of her own so she talks about the war— Lyn and Eliwood and Hector and the army they led, except she leaves out the scary parts. Most of the time Hugh is content to listen with his thumb in his mouth and his pegasus in his arm.  
  
Nino feels prickling on the back of her neck, like there's danger afoot, like she can't rest. She tells herself that when she stops feeling the prickles, that's where they'll stay. Until then, she stays up through the night and dozes when she can. It's less than ideal, Nino will admit, but she's gone through life feeling worse than she does now— being a little drowsy won't stop her.  
  
As the days go by, they push further through the mountains, and the weather warms. Nino starts tucking their mittens and gloves back into the bag and leaving Hugh's hood down when she fixes it in the mornings.  
  
She spends the last of their coin on three nights at an inn and a bath for both of them, but it's worth it. She scrubs the dirt out of all their clothes while Hugh splashes in the washtub, and then dunks her head in the water once she's put him to bed, clean and warm and sleepy. It's grown longer than she's used to— it behaves when she brushes it, and no longer looks scraggly and dull like it always did when she was growing up. She combs it with her fingers and dries it with a towel and gets dressed and doesn't pay it any more mind.  
  
The inn was worth it to finally get some sleep. Even so, she can't rest until she shuts tight the shutters of the little inn room and stays up, staring at the darkness, feeling Hugh tucked into her side.  
  
XV.  
  
The mid-spring rains pour down over the mountains, and Nino wants to curse the sky. They've left the village with the inn and even if they hadn't, they're out of coin. The brooches Nino took weren't worth much, and even though she can steal if it comes down to it, she doesn't want to. She supposes she could pawn the locket, too, but isn't going to, so it remains tucked inside her pocket where the tiny charm of St. Elimine rattles against the silver.  
  
Hugh sneezes— hay fever, not sickness, which she's glad for— and she shifts him closer under the overhang. The rain makes the mountains colder, makes the chill seep through her layers of clothes. Traveling during the early spring is chilly work, and Nino chills quickly. She's small and slight— _didn't get enough food or sunlight growing up,_ Ivy said— and the cold gets to her more easily than it would someone bigger. Not that Nino cares about this; as far as she's concerned, she should be more worried about Hugh.  
  
She wriggles her map out of her pocket. They're still a week away from Sacae— it's five days if you go at a normal traveling pace, but Nino has short legs, the stamina of an athsmatic rodent, and a small child to worry about. She considers it a miracle that they made it so far from Niime's house at all— isolated as it is, she'd half-expected them to get lost wandering the mountain paths or have frozen to death in the cold.  
  
A horse trots by, shaking its mane futiley in the rain, its rider hunched against the downpour. Nino ignores it— she ignores all the riders who pass, and they pay her no mind. But that's until this one stops in front of her overhang and Nino looks up, and recognizes her face. She's Ilian, with bright blue hair cut shorter than Nino's used to seeing, with the scars of a well-traveled mercenary and two chipped front teeth.  
  
"As I live and breathe," the traveler remarks, her face breaking into a grin. "If it isn't Nino!"  
  
Nino blinks. She smiles wearily. "Fancy seeing you here, Farina," she says. "Bad weather for flying."  
  
Farina snorts. Her horse— pegasus, Nino corrects herself, seeing the beast's feathered wings— nickers. Hugh looks up and stares at it, open-mouthed. "Horsey," he says. "Meemo. Meemo, horsey." He tugs at her sweater with his tiny hands, to make sure she's seeing the horsey.  
  
Farina looks her up and down, and her friendly smile turns into a frown. "It's too damned wet to catch up out here," she says. "Come on, there's a tavern nearby. We can talk there."  
  
So Nino gets to her feet and puts Hugh on her hip, and follows Farina into where her mercenaries have set up camp. They're resting at a little village tavern, and their horses and carts are hitched under the shelter of a shabby-looking stable. Farina hangs her coat over the back of her chair and flags down the late-night tavern waitress for some spiced cider and three bowls of hot stew. Nino protests. Farina raises an eyebrow at her and asks the waitress to bring out some pie, too.  
  
The stew is hearty traveler's fare, a soup made from dried meats, barley, and various vegetables— onions, potatoes, celery, carrots. Hugh fishes out all the celery bits and sticks them in his pocket when he thinks Nino isn't looking, but he eats the rest quickly enough that Nino has to chide him to slow down.  
  
Across the table, Farina nurses a mug of ale. "Odd place for you to be," she comments. "Could've sworn your uncle was further north, nearer Edessa. And what's with…" She gestures to Hugh, who looks up, his face and hands messy and his spoon in a vice grip in his tiny hand.  
  
Nino feels her throat tighten. "My cousin," she says. "Canas, he… there was an avalanche. He and Ivy didn't make it. We stayed with Niime, his mother, but I… couldn't." She busies herself with wiping the soup off of his face with a napkin. Hugh squirms, as toddlers do, but Nino's grip is tight enough that he doesn't wiggle away.  
  
Farina nods. Farina doesn't ask many questions, and Nino likes that about her. So it's no surprise to Nino when Farina just accepts what she says at face value, stops asking questions, and drops a little bag of coins on the table in front of Nino.  
  
Nino blanches. "I couldn't," she stammers. "I can't ask you to do this."  
  
"You're not asking," Farina replies. "I'm saying. Take the money— it's more than enough to get you to Sacae. Once you're there, it's all plains unless you run into a friendly tribe or find your way to Bulgar. But Sacae's so big, I wouldn't count on that."  
  
Nino takes the little bag. It's heavy in her hand. This can get her and Hugh food, supplies, a place to sleep. Maybe even transportation, if she finds someone going the same way.  
  
"I'll figure something out once we're out of the plains," Nino promises. She counts the coins, but there are enough that she slips up and has to keep starting over. She can't count it all, but the weight tells her all she needs to know. The Black Fang weren't poor by any means, but it's still more money than Nino has ever held in her life.  
  
Nino shakes her head. "I can't," she says. "It's too much. This is—"  
  
"Two hundred," Farina fills in. She leans back in her chair, trying to look nonchalant and failing. "Yeah, I know, it's generous. But I make twice that, easy, for most of the jobs I do. It's really no skin off my back."  
  
Nino fumbles for a protest and comes up empty. She can buy a week at a fancy inn with this. She can buy provisions for several weeks. She can buy new boots for Hugh because his are all worn out, thread and a needle to mend the elbows of his sweaters, bedrolls so the ground isn't so hard to sleep on when they're between towns. She tries to say something to Farina and cannot put words to how heavy a weight this lifts off her chest.  
  
XVI.  
  
Farina buys them a night at the inn. Nino tucks Hugh into bed but cannot sleep herself until the moon is sinking again, staying up by the light of the candle she keeps lit to keep Hugh's fears of the dark at bay, figuring how far it is to Sacae and how long it'll take them to cross the plains and into Bern. Once they're into Bern, she doesn't know where they'll go— to Etruria? To Lycia? To Ostia or Pherae, or will they push further, into Nabata, about as far as they can get while still being on the continent? Nino has told herself that they'll stop when she can rest without feeling the fear prickling on her neck, but the more she thinks about it, the more distant it seems. If such a place exists, Nino doesn't know it yet.  
  
They say goodbye to Farina and her mercenaries in the morning after Farina buys them breakfast— hot oatmeal and glasses of milk for both of them, at Farina's insistence, and she says she's just saying what Fiora would say, about being sure to drink milk to grow strong and healthy, but Nino isn't fooled. Hugh waves goodbye over his shoulder as they walk away, and babbles excitedly to Nino about how auntie Farina let him pet her pegasus.  
  
So they keep walking towards the border, and soon their road winds through foothills rather than mountains, past groves of old fir and pine trees rife with wildlife. Spring is in full bloom; wild daffodils sway on the roadside alongside other flowers Nino can't name. Their bag gets bulky with the winter clothes it's too warm to wear anymore— sweaters and mittens and coats and stockings. The nights are still cold and the ground is still hard, but Nino buys two bedrolls with the coin Farina gave them and it's a marked improvement, not that Nino sleeps much at all.  
  
But they survive. They survive, and that's all Nino can ask for.  
  
XVII.  
  
Hugh's birthday is in the spring. Nino buys them a piece of gingerbread for one of their coins and they break it into halves and eat it together sitting on the steps of a library in some town in the hills. Hugh is three, and knows it, and cheerfully announces it to passing townsfolk with three fingers outstretched and crumbs on his cheeks. Nino chides him for it but smiles anyway, and licks her thumb and wipes the crumbs from his face.  
  
Hugh's toddler gowns have proven impractical enough that Nino pays a tailor to make him two sets of sturdy overalls that'll hold up to the heavy wear they're sure to take, and Hugh doesn't like it until the tailor shows him how much he can fit in his pockets. It means that Nino has to turn them out and dump out an assortment of pebbles and sticks every time they take a break, but Hugh's having fun.  
  
Nino's never been very robust in terms of constitution, and a month of walking has taken its toll. Her knees start to tremble and her head starts to ache after an hour or two, and though the cold didn't do her any favors, the new warmth doesn't, either. They adapt to that, too, though, and Hugh explores the immediate area while Nino sits on the roadside and waits to catch her breath. Hugh knows not to go too far— the rule they have is that he has to be able to see her if he looks around, and even Hugh, newly three, can understand that.  
  
The foothill breezes rustle Nino's hair. If she concentrates, she can feel the spirits on the wind, chasing each other like village children playing tag. In her younger days (which feels strange to say at fifteen), she would play with them, run along with the wind spirits as much as her weak little lungs would allow, and conjure embers and sparks to play with when she had to stop and sit. But her spirits have faded back into the ether with disuse, and Nino couldn't so much as summon sparks now without her nose bleeding. She'll adapt— that's all anyone can do.


	5. XVIII-XXII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I watch the stars from my window sill; The whole world is moving, and I'm standing still._

XVIII.  
  
Their last stop before getting into Sacae is Carrhae, a small city in the foothills. They spend two days there to resupply. The inn is full up on rooms, but Nino trades a bit of her labor in the evenings— wiping down plates and tankards, mostly— for a roof over Hugh's head and a spot by the fire in the back room for them to sleep. It's good work, honest work, and the innkeeper drops a few extra gold pieces into Nino's apron pockets when she thinks Nino isn't looking because she has a soft spot for kids despite pretending she doesn't.  
  
Hugh falls ill on the second day, with a fever and a runny nose and a cough. He sniffles and whines and clings to Nino like a limpet, refusing to let go and crying louder when Nino pries him off to try and explain the situation to the innkeeper, who understands and tells her, albeit gruffly, to take off the days she needs to care for her boy and make it up later.  
  
It's a weight off Nino's shoulders to know that she doesn't have to worry about trying to keep up with the dishes while caring for a sick toddler, but she doesn't feel right doing nothing while Hugh sleeps, so she convinces the innkeeper to let her at the mending pile. She moves Hugh to the warmest space in the inn, on the couches in front of the front fireplace, and lets him rest with his head on her leg while she mends tears and patches holes.  
  
Jaffar visits. But at least this time he goes in through the front door like a normal person, rather than simply appearing, perched on a fence or something. It doesn't do Nino any favors when he lurks next to the fireplace, his cloak pinned tight, a scarf around his neck and looking for all the world like he's just another traveler, but Nino doesn't do much more than glance up from her mending.  
  
"Have you followed me all the way from the mountains?" Nino asks him.  
  
"No," Jaffar replies. It's the truth. Jaffar doesn't know what a lie is and even if he did he wouldn't lie to Nino. "Are you safe?"  
  
"As safe can be," Nino says.  
  
"Have you found where you're going?" he asks, and Nino hesitates.  
  
"Probably somewhere in Lycia," she says. "I'll find work in some city. Maybe some innkeeper needs a waitress or a dishwasher or a laundry maid. I'll do something. Araphen, maybe." She does not say why.  
  
Jaffar grunts. "Cities are dangerous," he says.  
  
"Better than camping and being at the mercy of raiders and bandits," Nino replies, which are threats she's heard spoken of constantly on her travels. "Better than _Sonia_."  
  
"Not a high bar," Jaffar says.  
  
"But it could be worse," Nino replies, and this same discussion from a month ago feels like another lifetime. "And don't tell me it could be better, Jaffar. I _know_ it could be. But I don't have the luxury of daydreaming about thriving when I barely know how to survive."  
  
Jaffar's quiet. For a moment Nino thinks she might've gone too far. But he just shrugs.  
  
"Do what you want, then," he says. "I'm not your keeper."  
  
The tension in Nino's shoulders eases. "I wouldn't ask you to be," she replies. She snorts. "Talk about the blind leading the blind."  
  
"Nearsighted," Jaffar shrugs.  
  
"Which of us is which?"  
  
"Depends."  
  
Nino chuckles. She hadn't even realized how drained she is. Walking for a month would do that, she supposes.  
  
"Sit down," she tells him. "You're probably tired."  
  
"I never tire," Jaffar says. Nino raises an eyebrow. He sits down.  
  
Nino returns to her mending. Hugh sniffles and whines, cheeks still flushed with fever, and Nino rubs his shoulder. Jaffar looks from Nino to Hugh. His brow furrows by a small enough amount that anyone who didn't know him as well as Nino did wouldn't have caught it.  
  
Her voice feels tight. "I couldn't leave him," Nino says. "Niime is— she— I had a bad feeling. She felt so much like Sonia that I couldn't stay and I couldn't leave Hugh there, either. If I had I'd be halfway across Sacae by now, but I— I had to try." She swallows. Her eyes sting. "You know."  
  
Jaffar hums. He stares at the fire. Nino sometimes does that, and then remembers the magic scarring on her hand and the burns around her wrists and arms and neck. She keeps stitching, rows and rows of little zigzags joining the sides of a tear. Ivy taught her to sew and was so pleased when Nino took to it that she said she'll have to make time to teach Nino other types of needlecraft— embroidery, she said, Nino might take to if she's taken so well to basic sewing. Nino feels a lump in her throat and pushes it down.  
  
"You have circles under your eyes," Jaffar tells her. "Are you sleeping enough?"  
  
"Why are you asking me that if you already know the answer?" Nino asks in reply. "And who are you to tell me that, anyway? Last year, Lyn had to physically push food into your hands to remind you to eat."  
  
"I've been talking to Legault lately," Jaffar tells her, which is an honest answer but it surprises Nino anyway. "He's taught me a lot about… doing personlike things."  
  
Nino snorts. "Figures. As if he's any model of self-care himself."  
  
"The first thing he told me is that sometimes it's just easier to look after other people."  
  
"And I'm your target, huh?"  
  
Jaffar looks at her evenly. "You can't care for a child if you can't even care for yourself," he says.  
  
He's right, but Nino's tired and doesn't want to hear it, and she focuses so intensely on how she doesn't want to hear it that she stitches right past the tear in the apron. She swears, under her breath because she's known how to swear since she was six years old but Ivy and Canas didn't want Hugh hearing that kind of language until he's old enough to understand it, and rips out the excess stitches.  
  
Jaffar shifts, and changes the subject. "I should go," he says. "I can't stay in one place too long."  
  
Nino chuckles humorlessly. "You rogue types are all the same like that," she says. "Tell Uncle Legault to come visit me sometime, if he really wants to be of any help."  
  
"I'll pass word along," Jaffar promises. He stands. "Sorry I didn't come at a better time."  
  
"It's alright," Nino says, and means it. "We'll just have to put off the official introduction until Hugh's feeling better and you roll back into town."  
  
"You say that like I'm some kind of vagabond," Jaffar says, with the corner of his lip ticked upwards, just slightly, and Nino feels pride bloom in her chest that Jaffar's taking steps to practice his sense of humor.  
  
"Aren't you?" Nino replies. "Angel of Death."  
  
Jaffar's expression turns wry. "I do hate that nickname."  
  
"I won't use it, then," Nino says. "Don't be a stranger. Maybe next time you track me down I'll have found somewhere."  
  
And Jaffar nods, bowing his head like a knight to his lady. Nino thinks he might've grown a bit in the past year— a little taller, a little stronger. She wonders if his nineteenth birthday's passed, and if it's too late to make him something.  
  
She feels a little better. She's glad Jaffar visited.  
  
XIX.  
  
Hugh's always been clingy, but he's even clingier when he's ill. His cheeks flush with fever but he shivers with cold, alternately kicking off the blanket Nino's wrapped around him and crying until Nino tucks it around him again. He doesn't feel like eating but he'll take in spoonfulls of hot soup that the innkeeper makes, claiming that she doesn't care, really, but he'll whine and disturb the guests if he's hungry. The innkeeper says that kind of thing a lot, doing various kindnesses to Nino and Hugh while insisting that it's not her problem. Nino's met people like the innkeeper before and doesn't question it or draw attention to it, but she does thank her.  
  
The days pass slowly. Nino's fingers ache from stitching until she sees double. But Hugh doesn't get any sicker— he sneezes and sniffles and doesn't feel up to playing, but he doesn't start coughing up blood, so Nino's taking that blessing as it comes.  
  
When he's awake, he sucks his thumb and watches Nino sew. She reinforces the seams and patches up the knees of his overalls, and it's quiet save for the crackling of the fire. Her vision blurs; she's tired, but refuses to stop.  
  
Hugh removes his thumb for his eyes and looks at Nino's locket, which just barely pokes out from the collar of her dress. "What's that," he asks.  
  
"It's my locket," Nino tells him. "Wanna see?"  
  
"Yes," Hugh nods. "See, peas?"  
  
A toddler saying 'peas' would probably end a war, so Nino rewards his usage of good manners by taking the locket off. It's on a cord around her neck, the cord itself chewed because Nino used to chew on it when she was scared or anxious— which was a lot, back in the day. The necklace itself is in worse shape than Ivy's. The silver is grimy and cloudy where it isn't tarnished, and both the silver and the enamel are pitted, battered with age. Hugh scootches up so he's leaning into Nino's side rather than slumped on her lap and holds out his tiny hand. Nino gently pushes the locket into his hands, and he fiddles with it with his chubby fingers.  
  
"Stars," he notices, looking at the locket. "Why?"  
  
"You're right, Hugh, those _are_ stars," Nino says, trying to remember how Ivy always did it. "The stars are for our surname, Morgenstern. It means morning star. That's the brightest star in the sky that's the first to appear at sunset and the last to fade at sunrise."  
  
It's unlikely Hugh cares about that or even registered what she said, because he's three and three-year-olds don't have the capacity for listening to stories that long quite yet, so while Nino's talking, Hugh is tugging at the locket like he's trying to open it, and when that fails, he tries to put it in his mouth. Nino gently pulls his hands away from his face before he can.  
  
"Don't eat that," she scolds him. "Can I have that back, Hugh?"  
  
"Peas," Hugh reminds her.  
  
"Please," Nino agrees. She holds out her hand. Hugh gently places it in her open palm and Nino closes her fist, keeping the locket safe. "Thank you, Hugh."  
  
"You welcome," Hugh says proudly. He knows his manners and isn't afraid to show it. Nino smiles and pushes his hair out of his face. It's gotten long— messy and violet like how Canas had his.  
  
She looks at the locket again. Her chest feels strange without its tiny weight resting on her breastbone. Carefully, she opens it— it doesn't rattle like Ivy's does because there's nothing in it, just the picture. It's of a wife and husband in a pretty dress and priest robes, respectively, holding two small green-haired toddlers in short-sleeved linen gowns, identical except for the fact that one has a tiny pink bow in her short, messy hair that matches the woman's exactly. Her family, Jan told her— Iris and Juge, her mother and father, and her twin brother Kai. Kai isn't his full name, and Nino isn't hers, but Nino thinks that names like Nicolas and Eponine-Rose would be difficult for toddlers to learn to say, so the nicknames make sense. She knows the names because Jan told her, and because they're written in nice script Nino _almost_ can't read on the opposite side of the locket.  
  
She's not sure how pictures that small work, but artist has managed to capture warmth in the man and woman's eyes. Nino doesn't know much about love, but she's seen how Canas and Ivy look at each other and it looks the same. Her examples of love have been when Ivy puts a warming charm on Canas's dinner plate so it stays hot until he pries himself out of his research to come eat it, when they absently link hands while reading on opposite ends of the couch, when she sees Canas bookmark amusing sentences in his tomes and textbooks that he thinks Ivy will appreciate. They looked at each other the same way Nino sees in the tiny picture of her parents, and she feels something pushing from behind her eyes when she thinks about it.  
  
She puts the locket back around her neck. She has more pressing matters to attend to, like Hugh and his illness. She doesn't have time to spend thinking about the family she never got to know.  
  
XX.  
  
Hugh's fever breaks about five days after they'd planned to leave initially, and to Nino, who's added these sleepless nights on top of the rest of them, is greatly relieved. Hugh's equally happy to no longer be too tired to just nap and eat chicken soup, and he's back to his healthy self the day Nino tries to pay the innkeeper for the days they stayed that she didn't work. The innkeeper refuses to accept her coin, though, saying she did enough work and she doesn't feel right charging kids, anyway, and Nino reluctantly concedes.  
  
So she ties Hugh's bootlaces in double knots and ties his cloak under his chin even though he'll probably want to take it off by midmorning, and packs their things into the bag, and though Hugh's still a little sniffly, his fever's gone and he feels much better, so they stop by the market to stock up on rations and then they follow the road leading south, through the hills and down to the plains.  
  
Merchant caravans pass, heading towards Bulgar, one of Sacae's two permanent settlements. At the rate they're traveling, it's another two weeks away. Past that, it'd be another two weeks south to Bern City or another six weeks southwest to Araphen— and that's if the road is a straight line, which Nino doubts, and if they don't run into any trouble, which Nino can't count on. She supposes they'll cross that bridge when they get there, but she wouldn't be surprised if Hugh was four by the time they got to Lycia.  
  
Nino remembers Bern. She wonders if Jan kept his promise and put the gravestones there. There'd be no bodies, but it's the principle of the thing. Worth checking, either way.  
  
"Horsey," Hugh observes, pointing at a cart passing by, pulled by two oxen.  
  
"Those are oxen," Nino corrects him.  
  
Hugh frowns. "Big horsey," he says instead.  
  
Nino shrugs. "Close enough."  
  
The next cart to go by is big and has a nice green cover, and it clatters with goods inside as the two pretty black horses pull it over the gravel road. It passes by at a trot, but then it stops, and the wagon driver leans over the side to get a look at Nino. He's a portly, balding man with thick eyebrows, a bushy ponytail, and two swipes of mustache on either side of his nostril like someone dabbed paint there and he didn't wipe it off.  
  
Nino blinks. "Merlinus!" she says. She's running into all kinds of familiar faces lately. "What are _you_ doing here?"  
  
"I could ask you the same question, little Nino," Merlinus replies, though he smiles jovially even as his eyes move to Hugh. "I thought you went up to Ilia with your uncle. And…"  
  
She wishes she didn't have to say it. "Long story," she says. "This is Hugh. He's my cousin. Say hi, Hugh."  
  
Hugh has attached himself to Nino's leg. "Hello," he mumbles.  
  
"I'm taking care of him, since Canas…" Nino hesitates. "There was an avalanche, and he and Aunt Ivy didn't make it. So it's just us now."  
  
Merlinus nods. "My condolences," he says. "I can hardly imagine— where are you children going, anyway?"  
  
Nino hesitates again. "Araphen," she says. "I know it's an awful long way from Ilia, but Ilia is…" too close to Niime. "You know how easily I get sick. The cold just doesn't do me any favors." Merlinus didn't need to know the whole story.  
  
Merlinus nods. "Well, it seems we're going the same way," he says. "And it seems foolish to let you walk when I've a perfectly good cart right here. We'll need to part ways after Bulgar, as I'm bound back northwards after that, but it'd beat walking."  
  
"You'd really do that?" Nino asks. Her memories of Merlinus involve sorting items into chests with labels she couldn't read, catching him snacking on the job, and knocking over weapon piles. "You'd really… let me back in the wagon?"  
  
Merlinus's face looks sour, but he waves a hand. "Just be careful," he says. Then he looks closer at Nino. "You look exhausted."  
  
Nino smiles wearily. "I'm told that's part of guardianship," she says. "You really mean it, Merlinus?"  
  
"I would never go back on my word," Merlinus swears. He hops down from the drivers' seat and pulls the back down. "Come on. Just in there."  
  
So Nino convinces Hugh to let go of her leg and boosts him into the wagon, which is full of crates, barrels, sacks, and other goodies. A tiny oil lamp with an orange flame dangles from the roof. Hugh looks confused.  
  
"Why wagon, Meemo?" he asks.  
  
"It's faster," Nino replies, setting the bag beside her as she sits down, her back to a grain sack. "And so we can travel without walking."  
  
Merlinus fixes the backboard and climbs back up in front. "Please don't touch anything," he stresses. "I'm not carting around weapons and tomes anymore, but I would rather not have tiny hands ripping into my goods."  
  
"Don't worry, Merlinus, Hugh won't touch anything. Right, Hugh?"  
  
"No touching," Hugh promises.  
  
Merlinus seemed unsure, but figured that was the best he was going to get. "We'll arrive in Bulgar in three days' time," he says. "Until then, take a break from walking. If you've walked all the way from Ilia, you surely need it."  
  
"That sounds nice," Nino agrees. "Thank you, Merlinus. Hugh, can you thank mister Merlinus?"  
  
"Thank you, mister Mermus," Hugh says obediently. Merlinus, trying not to cry at how cute that is, snaps the reins to get the horses to move again. The wagon starts to roll down the road, with all the clanking and clattering it implies. He must be moving cookware in those crates or something.  
  
Three days to Bulgar. Hugh looks out the back of the wagon to watch the scene go by behind them while Nino watches him— the board is high enough it's unlikely he'll go tumbling out, but Nino wants to be careful anyway. And yet, finally having the opportunity to rest and feeling the rumbling and gentle swaying of the wagon below her is making her drowsy.  
  
Perhaps a little rest wouldn't hurt, she figures. They're on their way to Bulgar. She is fifteen; they're both alive and safe and they have food and provisions enough to get them to Bern. The wagon moves beneath her as she rests her head back on the grain sack. She's suddenly aware of how heavy her bones are, and how little sleep she's gotten. But they're on their way, and she can trust Merlinus to watch Hugh.  
  
They'll be fine, Nino thinks as she feels her eyelids close. They'll be just fine.  
  
XXI.  
  
The wagon is good for letting Nino get some well-deserved rest. For the first few hours or so, Hugh plays with little animal figures crudely carved out of wood that the innkeeper let him keep. There's a bear and a dog and a bird, and he's named them appropriately— the bear is Bear, the dog is Dodo, and the bird is Quack. Bear is his favorite. It's fun for a while to make Bear run over all the various surfaces in the wagon, but that gets old quickly.  
  
After a while, Hugh is unsatisfied with playing quietly. Why would he be? The world may be especially large for someone his size, but that just means he has a lot of it left to see. Hugh doesn't like playing rough, like other children his age might, but he likes to explore— and though he knows when to stay close and when to play, it doesn't hurt to try his luck.  
  
He can't climb out the wagon— that much is easy to figure out. The board is too high for him to get his little leg over it, even if his new overalls mean he can run faster without tripping over the hem of his toddler gown. This is less than ideal, but Hugh is three years old, and past crying when he doesn't get something he wants. There must be some other solution.  
  
He carefully climbs over Nino, who's curled up with her head on a grain sack, and crawls up to the front of the wagon, where Merlinus sits to steer the horses. The back of the front seat is a little high for Hugh to climb over, but he manages, using a fallen-over flour sack as a step up.  
  
Merlinus hasn't noticed him. Hugh decides to change this.  
  
"Hello," he says, very purposefully. Merlinus jumps, and blinks, like he wasn't expecting Hugh to talk.  
  
"Hello," Merlinus replies awkwardly. "Er… little fellow."  
  
"I'm Hugh," Hugh tells him. "Can I go outside?"  
  
Merlinus blinks. "No," he says.  
  
Hugh frowns. Merlinus turns his attention back to the gravel road ahead. The road winds through Ilian farmland— that's what it'll be for another day, until they reach the Sacaean border. Hugh watches as a farmer drives a cart full of produce up along the road. He waves, because his papa told him it was polite to wave to people you see. The farmer waves back. Hugh thumps his heels on the wagon board happily.  
  
But he's not done. "Can I go outside, peas?" he asks. Mister Merlinus must be doing that thing that Nino and his parents do— he doesn't get what he wants unless he says _please_.  
  
Merlinus blinks again, and looks at him. "No, that isn't possible," he says. "You see, little fellow, we have to keep moving, or I won't make it to Bulgar in time to unload these goods."  
  
Hugh doesn't see why that matters. "I wanna go outside," he protests. "Peas?" Just in case one please wasn't good enough.  
  
"No," Merlinus says again.  
  
Hugh huffs and folds his arms, glaring at the horses. Hugh likes horses— he can't say pegasus, but "horsey" is close enough. The horses Mister Merlinus has are very pretty, he has to admit— all shiny and black like piano keys. (Hugh doesn't know what a piano is, because he's never seen one, but it's an apt comparison nonetheless.)  
  
"Why?" Hugh asks.  
  
"I just said," Merlinus repeats. "I have to get to Bulgar by next week to meet my client. My credibility a a merchant depends on it."  
  
Hugh has no idea why that even matters. "Why?"  
  
"Because that's my job. I'm a merchant— I buy, sell, and deliver. My client in Bulgar has asked me to procure goods he needs for his restaurant, so that's what I've done." Merlinus seems satisfied with his explanation and Hugh is no closer to the answer he wants.  
  
"What's boo-gar?" Hugh asks.  
  
" _Bulgar_ , little fellow," Merlinus corrects him. "It's a big city in Sacae."  
  
A decent enough answer. Hugh squirms in his seat. He wishes he were outside. He found a whole snake on the road before Merlinus had stopped them! He picks up all kinds of interesting things— maybe Merlinus would like to see it.  
  
Hugh reaches into the pocket of his overalls and pulls out the tiny snake— a garter snake, still mostly alive. It wriggles around Hugh's fingers, but he holds it tight. With his other hand, he tugs on Merlinus's sleeve.  
  
Merlinus sighs thinly. "Yes, what is it?"  
  
"Lookit," Hugh tells him. He leans over and puts the snake on Merlinus's sleeve.  
  
At that, Merlinus makes a strangled noise and drops the whip he'd been holding, flailing his wrist and flinging the snake into the fields, where it escapes. Hugh finds this very funny and giggles wildly, all the while Merlinus fumbles for the whip and tries to make sure he hasn't just tangled himself in the reins.  
  
When he's under control, he glares at Hugh, who's laughing so intensely he's wiggling in his seat. "You think that's funny, do you?" he demands. He's not very scary at all. Hugh only giggles harder.  
  
"Well— well— it's not," Merlinus says, trying very hard to sound stern and not like he was just frightened by a garter snake. "It's not."  
  
Hugh giggles, clapping his tiny hands together. He wishes he had more wiggly things to put on Merlinus to see if he does it again. Fortunately for Merlinus, he does not.  
  
Merlinus huffs, shaking his head and looking back at the road. "You're a horrible child," he decides. "Just horrible."  
  
"You're horble," Hugh replies, still giggly from the snake incident.  
  
"That's not—" Merlinus begins. Then he probably realizes that it's kind of useless for a grown man to argue seriously with a three-year-old, shakes his head, and tries to get his heartbeat back under control.  
  
Hugh bounces his ankles against the wagon boards. It makes a funny sound— he likes that. There's also very little else he can do, since apparently he can't play outside. And really, a change of scenery kind of helps— even if the scenery itself is boring. Hugh waves at another passing farmer, who waves back. He has two of his kids in the front seat with him, the younger of which looks Hugh's age, and he very excitedly waves back to Hugh until they're out of sight.  
  
"Where did you find a snake, anyway?" Merlinus huffs.  
  
"I finded it outside," Hugh tells him. "With Meemo."  
  
Merlinus glances back to Nino, still sleeping despite the excitement. "Meemo, huh?" he says.  
  
Hugh nods enthusiastically. "I love Meemo a lot! This much!" He stretches out his arms as far apart as they'll go to prove his point.  
  
The cart bumps a little when the wheels hit a rocky patch. In the back of the wagon, Nino jolts awake, reaching for the tomes in her bag before she knows what she's doing. The tension eases when she remembers where she is, and sees Hugh in the front with Merlinus.  
  
She moves up towards the front, moving around the crates and sacks. "Hugh, are you bothering mister Merlinus? How'd you get up there?"  
  
"Climbed," Hugh says, like it's obvious.  
  
"We were having a lovely conversation," Merlinus promises, even though he has no idea how to handle kids, especially kids as young as Hugh— but Hugh's not screaming and crying, so he supposes he must be doing something right. "You should rest, Nino. I'll wake you when we stop for lunch."  
  
Nino hesitates. "If you're sure," she says. "Hugh, try to be nice, alright?"  
  
"I'm nice," Hugh protests.  
  
"Then you won't have any problems," Nino says. She looks at Merlinus again. "Are you _sure_ there isn't—"  
  
"I'm very sure," Merlinus promises. "Go on, no need to worry about me. Old Merlinus can handle a kid for a few hours."  
  
Nino cracks a smile. "As I recall, you didn't do too well with me."  
  
Merlinus's reassuring grin falters, but he recovers quickly. "Well, then, I'll just avoid asking him to organize stacks of equipment," he says. "But it's not like we'd get very far."  
  
"What's equibent?" Hugh asks.  
  
"See?" Merlinus points out. "Anyway, since we just crossed the border, there's not going to be very much to see. Sleeping is as good a way as any to pass the time."  
  
Nino sighs. "If you're sure," she caves. "But if there's any problem—"  
  
"You'll know quickly. Small wagon."  
  
Which is a fair point. Nino tucks Hugh's hair behind his ears, which stick out from his head and look big in comparison to the rest of him. It's getting long— so is her own, and she's reminded of it every time she combs out the tangles in the mornings. But Hugh is smiling, and the road is clear, and in front of them, the plains of Sacae sprawl out for miles upon miles. There's no harm in resting a little longer.  
  
XXII.  
  
Nino rests until lunchtime. Hugh takes his first steps into the tall grass of the plains now that the wagon's stopped and he can move around for a bit. The grass comes up to his waist, which doesn't stop him, and he eagerly toddles off, his little purple head bobbing amongst the grasses. He comes back with his pockets full of rocks he liked, and Nino has to convince him, again, to leave the rocks behind because they can't carry them all around. He concedes only because Nino lets him fling them as hard as he can into the plains, which makes up for it.  
  
They pack up again and continue southwards in the afternoon. When the sky starts to turn orange, Merlinus stops the wagon and they break for the night. Nino shows off for Hugh by tossing a tiny fireball at the campfire from five yards away, which startles Merlinus enough that he nearly drops the cookware.  
  
Hugh claps his hands and giggles in delight. "Again, Meemo, again!"  
  
"Once is enough," Nino tells him, wiping the blood from her nose off on her sweater sleeve. Merlinus sighs and sets up the cooking pot. Hugh scoots closer to Nino on the back of the wagon.  
  
"S'dark," he says. "Nighttime?"  
  
"Yeah, it's nighttime," Nino agrees. "After mister Merlinus makes dinner, it'll be bedtime."  
  
"Mister Mermus telled me that we're goin' to boo-gar," Hugh says. "When we get there?"  
  
"In two more days," Nino replies. "Tomorrow and then the day after that and then we'll be in Bulgar."  
  
"What's at boo-gar?" Hugh asks.  
  
"Mister Merlinus has business there," Nino says. "So he'll stay. We're going to keep walking."  
  
"How long?" Hugh asks.  
  
Nino thinks. "Merlinus, how far is Bulgar from Bern City on foot?"  
  
Merlinus taps his chin. "About two weeks," he says. "So, three, for you."  
  
"Three weeks," Nino says. "Then we'll be in Bern City."  
  
"A lot," Hugh sums up. "And then, more walking?"  
  
"Probably," Nino guesses.  
  
Merlinus pours a cup full of barley into the hot water and stirs it. "That's a long trip you have planned," he says. "But I doubt you'll be found, if that's what you want."  
  
"That's the ideal," Nino admits. "Though I can't speak for what all of those dark magic tomes could do. If there's some kind of— of person-finding spell she has."  
  
Hugh frowns, midway through trying to stack his little wooden animals on top of each other. "Dark magic is scary," he decides. "I don't like it."  
  
"Me neither," Nino agrees. "So, Merlinus, what have you been up to? Seen anyone else from the army around?"  
  
Merlinus hums, adding some cubes of potato, celery, and onion. "I've been here and there," he says. "Lyn's grandfather passed a few months back. Last I saw her she and Hector were in the process of merging Caelin with Ostia. She might be back somewhere on the plains by now. Lady Louise had her baby— I was in Etruria two weeks ago and heard tell of their newborn. Ah, what else…"  
  
"How's Lady Ninian doing?" Nino asks. "Is she alright, what with…" she lets the silence linger, a somber acknowledgement of Nils going back through the gate. She hadn't talked to Nils very much, but they were the same age (roughly), so they often got stuck together running errands or suchlike, and he'd been quietly cheerful and nice to talk with.  
  
"Last I heard," Merlinus says uncertainly. "She'd moved to Pherae with Lord Eliwood. But this is all hearsay, mind you. Merchants chatter, but I've no metric for how much of this is true. If your travels take you to Lycia, perhaps you can pay a visit. I'm sure Lord Eliwood would love to see you."  
  
Nino doesn't like the idea of dropping in uninvited, but she smiles anyway. "I'll keep that in mind," she says.  
  
"Oh!" Merlinus remembers. "Brother Lucius started up that orphanage of St. Elimine in Araphen he always talked about. Or is it Father Lucius now? I can never remember how clergy hierarchy goes."  
  
"Nor can I," Nino admits. "But that's good to hear. He'll be great at it." As far as Nino was concerned, the more good orphanages there were in the world, the lower the chance was of another kid ending up like her.  
  
They make more smalltalk— exchanging bits of gossip and hearsay about the whereabouts of the Lycian League, discussion of how reconstruction from the war is going, where Nino's travels might lead her next, should Bern not quite fit. Merlinus finishes the soup and ladles it out into three bowls, and Hugh picks out all the celery before eating it.  
  
"The Black Fang were Bern-based, weren't they?" Merlinus recalls. "Do you suppose there's any remnants?"  
  
"Wouldn't surprise me if there weren't," Nino admits, as much as she kind of hopes. "If anyone's still around, though, it's Uncle Jan. He'd at least give them graves, even if he couldn't get any bodies sent back to bury."  
  
"Are you going to visit?" Merlinus asks.  
  
"I think I owe Father that much," Nino says quietly. What Niime said back in Ilia echoes in her head— the webbing of death surrounds you. Maybe every family she has is just doomed to die.  
  
But she can't dwell on it now. When dinner's done, Merlinus cleans up and Nino puts Hugh to bed in the wagon, and rolls her bedroll out under the night sky while the embers in their fire smolder. Canas had books about the stars— how to read them, how people used to use the stars to find their way, and how they drew pictures of heroes and monsters in them and told grand stories of adventures and battles. Nino wishes she'd gotten a chance to delve into them before… well.  
  
The nights have gotten warmer. Nino listens to the wind in the grass and the distant sounds of coyotes and owls and dozes on and off until sunrise turns the sky red and the stars fade back into blue.


	6. XXIII-XXV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mile markers seem to call my name and say, "you're safer now; through every town, we'll light your way in shades of green."_

XXIII.  
  
It's two more days to Bulgar, but the days feel blessedly short, and the stone mile markers pounded into the road pass relatively quickly. They part ways with Merlinus once they get to the city and Nino spends some of Farina's coin on a night at the inn and a meal, before they're off again, through the waving grasses. Sacae spreads out vast and varied before them, flat plains and rolling hills and scattered forests and swamps where the river winds through. The spring has sprinkled the plains with red and yellow and pink wildflowers and Nino tries to teach Hugh how to braid them into crowns when she has to sit down and let her lungs recover, but his fingers are too pudgy and inaccurate to get it quite right. He lets her tuck yellow ones in his hair, and he tries to return the favor, and just ends up dropping them on her head instead. It's the thought that counts, and she tucks them in there to make him happy. And he is, and swings her hand as they walk until she swings it with him, and everything feels like it might work out alright.  
  
The feeling fades when the sun starts to go down. Hugh warms his little hands in front of the fire that Nino pokes occasionally to send sparks into the starry sky. The air is still warmed from the day, warm enough that she has her sweater and her ever-present purple cloak set aside. She hears howling in the distance— plains coyotes, a merchant told her in Bulgar. They're common enough, and don't typically attack human travelers so long as they're not carrying raw meat.  
  
Hugh looks up. "Doggies," he says, looking in the direction of the howling.  
  
"They're coyotes," Nino tells him. "We can't pet them. They're wild."  
  
Hugh shakes his head and points behind Nino. "Mm-mm. Doggies."  
  
Nino turns. She sees sets of yellow eyes over the grasses, far enough that their campfire doesn't illuminate them, and slowly stands up.  
  
"Hugh, get behind me," she says. Hugh frowns, and attaches himself to Nino's skirt. They've seen wild dogs do that, smelling dinner— Merlinus always waved a torch at them and it scared them off. Nino doesn't have a stick, but she picks up her fire tome and lobs a fireball over their heads, where it scatters in midair. The dogs scatter, but the feeling doesn't go away.  
  
She hears the galloping horses a split second before Hugh gasps. Time slows.  
  
There's more than one— not wild horses, either, horses with riders in Sacaean clothing, with bows and spears and scarves wrapped around their faces. Four of them, if Nino's not mistaken, with big dogs just a step away from the distant coyotes back to pacing around them in a circle. The riders do, too, bows drawn so Nino couldn't get far even if she did try to run.  
  
Hugh whimpers, clinging to her skirt. Nino wants to crouch down and reassure him, but she feels the raiders' eyes, glinting just above the scarves, boring into her.  
  
They circle, on horseback, with the dogs. One of them is more decorated— the leader, probably, and he's the one who speaks.  
  
"Money," he orders her. "This road has a toll, traveler."  
  
Nino's jaw is locked in place. She takes the coin purse off her belt and tosses it at him. It lands on the packed dirt road. The lead raider sneers, but dismounts to pick it up and count the coins anyway.  
  
"Is that it?" he asks.  
  
Nino nods.  
  
"Are you lying to me?" he asks. Nino clenches her teeth. She says nothing.  
  
The raider scoffs, tossing her coin purse in his hand. "Can't talk, girl? Or are you trying to test me? I don't like being tested."  
  
Hugh sniffles, hiding behind Nino. He's crying and trying very hard to keep it quiet like he would when he had nightmares back in Niime's house in Ilia, his chest shaking and his hands trembling. He's terrified, terrified of the raiders that have them surrounded. Nino feels her jaw pop.  
  
The Raider quirks an eyebrow and crouches. "Oi, little one," he says. "You talk?"  
  
"Don't," Nino grinds out. "Don't talk to him."  
  
The raider stands back up. "Ah, so you _do_ have a voice. This toll isn't good enough. How about a valuable to cover the difference?"  
  
"Eat it," Nino says instead.  
  
At that, the raider almost seems taken aback. He blinks, then bends forward condescendingly, making a big show of getting on Nino's level. "What was that?" he demands. "What'd you say to me?"  
  
"I _said,"_ Nino repeats, slowly, like he's an idiot, _"Eat it."_

And before the raider can say anything else, she whips her hand forward and flames shoot out of it— blistering, burning, bright and hot and engulfing the lead raider in flames. Her magic scars open back up, glowing yellow and orange, climbing up her wrist further the longer she holds her flame. And the raider screams, screams, horrible and agonizing while the smells of burning flesh and hair fill Nino's nose. The magic burns up her wrist but she doesn't stop until the raider falls to the ground, charred and unrecognizable. And still her hand is wreathed in flames, and she whips around to one of the other raiders, all of whom have stopped, unable to do anything but stare at the blackened corpse of their leader that breaks into ash when it hits the ground.  
  
Nino doesn't talk. She hates them, hates them for making Hugh cry, for all the other children they've scared while they shook down their passing parents for whatever money they had on them. It's wrong. It's cowardly. And it makes Nino fiercely, frighteningly _angry_.  
  
Nino has not been angry very often. But she knows when she is, because she burns.  
  
She lobs a fireball at one of the other raiders. It lights his scarf on fire and he screams, falling off his horse when it rears and runs off, spooked, into the plains. He rubs his face in the dirt frantically to put it out, and then scrambles back and away into the night.  
  
The other two try to shoot at her. One arrow misses and she burns the other to ash in midair. They try again, and Nino scoops Hugh into her arms with strength she didn't know she had and dodges the next two. One lands in the ground and the other sticks itself in their bag.  
  
A raider dismounts and pulls out his sword. Nino dodges it again, just barely, and ends up tripping onto her knees with Hugh in her arm. She lets loose the flames again and they're hotter, angrier, so hot the raider is dead before he can even burn.  
  
Blinding, agonizing pain from her shoulder. Nino grits her teeth but noises of pain escape from behind her teeth. Hugh screams, cries, clings to her, gets tears and snot all over her shirt. Nino blasts the final raider with the flame and he falls to the ground, writhing as the flames melt his skin, and then he's still, and the dogs and horses have scattered, and Hugh's hiccupping and sobbing and there is an arrow in Nino's shoulder.  
  
There is an arrow in Nino's shoulder. There is blood seeping dark into her shirt. There is ringing in her ears and pain in her head and blood pouring from her ears and nose. Hugh is crying. His tears are streaking paths in the dirt on his face. She can't hear him.  
  
"Hugh, step back," she tells him, or she thinks he tells him because she can't hear her own voice, and he does, so it must've taken. Nino reaches back and feels the arrow shaft. Every movement hurts. Nino's broken bones before, and though she can't think of it at this particular moment, dealing with an arrow to the shoulder makes a broken wrist pale in comparison.  
  
Her saving grace is that it wasn't a very strong shot. The arrow's light, and though the head is sharp, it didn't embed itself fully. But the wound howls when she wraps her hand around the shaft and yanks it out, and Nino hasn't cried of pain or fear since she was seven but she feels tears shove themselves out of her eyes despite how tight they're shut. She forces in shaky breaths through her teeth, clenched so tight her jaw hurts, her good hand clenched in the fabric of her shirt. It's wet, dark red with blood.  
  
Next step. She can't bandage it, and can't move to get her shirt out of the way. But she presses her hand over the wound and breathes, breathes, tries to think. She can heal. She's out of practice, but it was going to have to do.  
  
How much magic does she have left? Not much, given her bleeding nose. But it's just a little more— she only needs to close the wound. She breathes, tries to remember. She learned a little bit from Lucius, trying to find another way to help out. She can't remember if she was any good at it, but it's the only option she has.  
  
There's a common assumption among those who've never needed mid-battle healing that it feels good, relieving you of pain. These people are, to say the very least, incorrect.  
  
Nino's vision goes white. Whatever pain she felt before multiplies tenfold and becomes a burning, searing heat that rages even when she doubles over in agony. Her stomach heaves and she retches her dinner into the nearby grass. She repeats the process: heal, stop, recover, heal, stop, recover, until she can tell it's shut. And every time she feels the searing return with a vengeance, like the concept of pain was invented for Nino, specifically, to suffer.  
  
She finally rips her good hand away from the wound when it feels like she can move again. She breathes through her teeth, then around the dried blood in her nose, then through her mouth when she can force her jaw back open. Then finally she opens her eyes, and sees the blood from her nose drying on her shirt, the burned and lifeless bodies of three of the four raiders, their campfire. And there's Hugh, sitting three feet away with his knees to his chest, rubbing his runny nose with his sleeve.  
  
Nino breathes. "Hugh," she says weakly. She can hear her voice again, though it's distorted like she's trying to talk through water. "Hugh, it's okay. I'm okay now."  
  
Hugh looks up. For a moment Nino thinks he might run to hug her, but he doesn't. Instead his chin trembles and he starts crying all over again. Nino can't say she blames him— after all that, she's tempted to cry, too.  
  
Very slowly, she scoots over to Hugh and pulls his hands away from his face with her good hand. She cleans his tears away with a crumpled handkerchief she fished out of her pocket, then spits on a new corner and wipes the dirt off his cheeks.  
  
"It'll be okay," she tells him, her voice hoarse and her throat burning. "It'll be okay, Hugh. I'm right here." Hugh hiccups, his tiny shoulders shaking, and looks up at her.  
  
"P-probise?" he babbles out.  
  
"Promise," Nino agrees.  
  
Her head feels fuzzy, and she feels a chill that seems to come from inside her bones themselves. No more magic for her— not unless she wants to drop dead and leave Hugh all alone, and that's not an option. She won't _let_ it be an option, and it startles her how deeply she means it.  
  
Nino had never given much thought to growing up. When she was very small it was only something to reach for in the hope her mother may look her way or even smile at her, just once. After that growing up had meant just another day of survival with no real end in sight. She had accepted that she'd probably die before age twenty by her thirteenth birthday. On her first Black Fang assignment, when she couldn't bring herself to kill Prince Zephiel, she had been willing to let Jaffar strike her down. And even during and after the war, surrounded by unexpected friendships and the first new tastes of what it meant to be appreciated, to be wanted, to be _loved_ , nothing had shaken that deep-seated resignation to the idea that she'd die young. When it turned out it wasn't going to be the assassin's life that killed her, she'd figured it'd be magic— her innate skill was both a gift and a curse, granting her prodigal power but with the caveat of the more she used it, the quicker it would burn out and the shorter her life would be. Nino hadn't decided this consciously, but had always figured somewhere in her age-limited mind's eye that she would one day die young, alone, unknown, and unmourned, her brains bleeding out of her nose and ears on the day that her magic ran dry.  
  
Sometime in the past six weeks, that had changed.  
  
Nino wouldn't have been able to pinpoint the day if she'd tried. But this is the moment she realizes it— that succumbing to her death was no longer an option. It only makes perfect sense if she thinks about it, like these thoughts had been there the whole time. If she dies now, Hugh is only three— her dying would scare him, scar him, leave him all alone on the road to some hypothetical home that he doesn't know. She can't die, won't die, won't even consider the idea until they're somewhere safe and she knows that someone, someone she trusts, will be there to take care of him. Until that point, she is all he has.  
  
Hugh sniffles. Nino holds the handkerchief to his face and he blows his nose in it. "Y-you yelled an' cried, Meemo," he hiccups. "Th-there was— there was blood. A lotta blood."  
  
"It's okay now," Nino promises. "It's like— it's like when you hurt your finger on one of your mom's sewing needles."  
  
Hugh shakes his head. "No, a lotta blood!" he insists. "You got hurted. S'not okay."  
  
Nino falters. "Okay, yeah, it hurt," she admits. "It still does. But I won't hurt forever, Hugh. I'll get all better like your finger did."  
  
He doesn't seem convinced. "Gamma telled me," he began, rubbing at his eyes. "She telled me that— that people get dead when they get hurted real bad. They stop working an' don't move or wake up. L-like mama an' papa in the snow."  
  
Nino's heart sinks. "You thought I was going to die, too," she says.  
  
Hugh's chin shakes again, threatening more tears. He nods.  
  
With her good arm, Nino pulls Hugh close. He curls up in her lap, clinging to her shirt despite all the blood drying in the fabric. She doesn't know what to do in this situation but she can take a guess at what Ivy would do— it's gotten her this far, so it can't hurt. But sometimes it's intuitive, and this is one of those times.  
  
"I won't die, Hugh," she promises. She means it. She'll make it so, if that's what it comes down to. "Even if I get hurt again. I won't die."  
  
She means it. While Hugh still needs her, she won't die— and if death comes anyway, then she'll fight against it with all the strength she has.  
  
She won't die. And the sureness of it sticks it in her head, right where her acceptance of that very thing used to be.  
  
She won't die. And nothing, not even death itself, can force her to admit otherwise.  
  
XXIV.  
  
Bulgar to Bern City is a two week's distance on foot for a healthy adult with adequate rations, a full night's sleep each night, good weather, and no trouble with raiders or wild animals. It's about three weeks for a sickly, sleep-deprived teenager with a toddler in tow. Factor in a badly-stabilized shoulder wound and you may end up with something more like a month and a half.  
  
As far as Nino's concerned, they may as well have been crawling, and the vast plains completely devoid of signs, farms, fences, or anything hinting at permanent human settlement don't help. The mile markers and the wagon tracks in the road are the only thing reminding Nino that they're not wandering aimlessly through acre after identical acre of wilderness, and even then, they're lucky if they manage to pass two of those mile markers in a day of walking.  
  
Calling what they do "walking" is generous— it's more like limping for twenty feet and then stopping. If it's not her flimsy lungs, it's her back aching from carrying the heavy bag on only one side. If it's not her back, it's her injured shoulder reminding her that it's still injured and she didn't even heal it that well in the first place. If it's not her shoulder, it's her aching knees. And if it's not her at all, it's Hugh getting hungry or tired, but with how often they stop, he hardly even needs to ask.  
  
Hugh, for what it's worth, tries to help. He tries to make her take turns carrying their bag— which is about the same size he is and probably just as heavy, so it goes about as well as one might expect. He insists on trying anyway until Nino promises him, very wearily, that she'll handle carrying the bag, and he reluctantly lets her. At night, Nino's caught him asleep leaning against their bag like he'd been awake standing guard while Nino dozed, only to succumb to sleep despite his best efforts. And sometimes he asks her if it hurts (she always says yes, because she doesn't see why she should lie to him about it), and if he can kiss it better like his mother would (and she always says yes, if only because it makes him happy to try).  
  
_It's good manners,_ he insists. _It's fair._ Hugh is very big on things being fair, as young children often are. And tired as she is, Nino can't be mad at Hugh for anything he's trying to do. He's still little, and does what he can.  
  
Nino is tired, worn down from walking and pain and the constant, buzzing headache that's settled in since she tried to heal her shoulder, as if Canas is scolding her from beyond the grave for pushing herself so far. The thought amuses her— if Canas were there, he'd be fussing endlessly, switching mid-sentence between worrying and reprimanding.  
  
She hadn't realized, even with all the people she's lost, just how much grief would hurt.  
  
Three more days of walking pass without incident, only the road and the wilderness and mile markers that Nino's lost count of, at this point. The road starts to wind through groves of trees rather than endless plains, all sporting soft leaves and flowers for the springtime. Hugh's absolutely enamored at the variety he sees, though far less so when his pollen allergy kicks in. But it's a lovely spot, and Nino feels more secure camping under tree cover than she does on the open plains, so it works out.  
  
Nino wakes up under the tree cover feeling feverish. Which is odd— she's always been more prone to chills than fever. She figures it must be the pollen. She's never lived in Sacae, after all, so maybe it's the flowering trees causing something strange. But she can still move around and walk, so they keep walking.  
  
XXV.  
  
After another three days, Nino does not feel any better. Then one morning she can't lift her head from the bedroll without her vision going white from the pain, and it occurs to her that _maybe_ something's wrong.  
  
"I think I'm sick," she whispers to Hugh when he tries to wake her up.  
  
_No shit, dumbass,_ the rest of her body screams.  
  
Hugh frowns. "We can't walk today?"  
  
"No," Nino agrees. "I just need to rest for a while. Stay put, okay, Hugh? Don't wander off."  
  
"Stay put," Hugh promises.  
  
Nino smiles wearily. Sleep takes her as soon as she lets it, and unknowingly begins a very, very long day.


	7. XXVI-XXVIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's just, I'd rather be causing the chaos than laying at the sharp end of this knife._

XXVI.  
  
Hugh has been sick before. He's had colds, ear infections, the chicken pox, the flu. In his experience, being sick means feeling gross and tired, but also getting to nap whenever he wants and eat chicken soup for breakfast if he asks for it. So Nino needing to sleep isn't a surprise to him, and thus he sees no reason to be scared. He may not be able to make her chicken soup, but he can be quiet and let her rest, and that's probably something.  
  
So she sleeps through lunchtime. That's fine, Hugh knows how to get at the food in their bag, and he's a big boy that can eat an apple without someone cutting it first. He's a little sad when it gets to be afternoon and she's still sleeping, but that's because he wants to talk to her and hold her hand like usual and such. But Hugh won't wake her up just for that— she's resting, and Hugh knows that you have to be quiet when people are resting. It's good manners.  
  
When the wyverns land nearby, though, _then_ he gets scared.  
  
If there's anything that Nino has taught him, it's that you Do Not Trust Anyone because they could hurt you. She always pulls him close and leads him away if someone they haven't met tries to talk to either of them, and as far as Hugh's concerned, that's the right thing to do with strange people. But he's too little to pull Nino away no matter how hard he tries— but he can't fight them off— but he can't let them hurt her anyway, because he doesn't want to see anyone else he loves getting hurt.

He can do _something_. He has rocks.  
  
The Strange People are very tall— but then again, everyone is tall to Hugh. There are two of them. They're dressed in dark colors that stick out like sore thumbs against the pale grassland. One of them has a crooked nose and the other has two black eyes. One of them looks at him strangely, while the other looks from him to Nino to the brown dried blood on her shirt and his brows furrow in concern.  
  
Hugh puts his hand into his pocket and throws a rock at them. It falls short by a mile. That's okay— he has more rocks.  
  
A pegasus lands nearby. Two more people Hugh has never met come to investigate, and that's when Hugh stops understanding what's going on.  
  
Jaffar, for perhaps the first time in his life, is the first person to speak. "Nino's hurt," he says. Then he remembers that greeting people is polite, and nods his head. "Lady Lyndis."  
  
Lady Lyndis, who hasn't seen any of these people in over half a year and hadn't expected to again in her life, frowns. "What? How? How are— when did—"  
  
"We just got here," Jaffar's friend says— Legault, who doesn't know Lyn or Florina well enough to address them by name. "Have we met?"  
  
Lyn furrows her brow and nods. "Yeah, you're that, uh, guy," she remembers. "L-something. Lego… leggy…" she looks helplessly to Florina for a clue, who shrugs and shakes her head.  
  
"Legault," Legault says pointedly.  
  
Lyn snaps her fingers. "That's the bitch!"  
  
" _Excuse_ me—"  
  
"Excuse _me_ ," Jaffar says, a little louder, making everyone shut up and look at him. "Can this wait? Nino is hurt."  
  
Everyone looks to Nino, who's slept through all of this. But they can't look at Nino without first looking at Hugh, who's been standing in front of her with rocks in his tiny hands. He tosses one at them as hard as his little arm can manage, and it hits Legault in the ankle.  
  
Lyn and Florina look, in tandem, from Hugh to Nino to Jaffar.  
  
Lyn pauses. "When did Nino have a child?"  
  
"Six weeks ago," Jaffar replies.  
  
"Oh, alright. I must've missed that." A minute later, it hits her. "Wait."  
  
"No touching Meemo!" Hugh demands, throwing another rock. This time it misses Legault and bounces off Florina's boot.  
  
Florina crouches in front of Hugh. Hugh pulls a third rock out of his pocket and raises it threateningly.  
  
"Hey there," Florina says gently. "My name's Florina. Can you put that rock down, please, sweetie?"  
  
Hugh reluctantly lowers it. She _did_ say please.  
  
Florina smiles. "Thank you," she says. "Can you tell me your name?"  
  
Hugh hesitates. "I'm Hugh," he says.  
  
"That's a great name, Hugh! You know Nino, right?" Florina asks. "We're her friends. We want to help. Do you know how she got hurt?"  
  
Hugh nods. "A monster throwed a stick. It hurted meemo real bad. She made the monsters get dead. And, an' today she telled me she's sick. I stayed real quiet so Meemo could sleep."  
  
Jaffar kneels down next to Nino. He reaches out, but Hugh slaps his hand away.  
  
"Don't," he says firmly. "Meemo's sleeping."  
  
Jaffar blinks. "Uh," he says.  
  
"Jaffar's just making sure she's okay," Florina promises. "We want to help."  
  
If Florina says so, it's probably okay, but Hugh still squints at Jaffar as he steps back. Jaffar puts a hand by her mouth, then on her neck.  
  
"Well, there's breathing," he mumbles. He taps her cheek. When that doesn't work, he taps a little harder. Grumbling indistinctly, Nino reaches up and swats at him with her good hand.  
  
Hugh frowns. "Meemo's supposed to be resting," he protests.  
  
"Yeah, she is," Nino agrees blearily, rubbing her eyes. She tries to sit up, fails, and then notices Jaffar.  
  
She stares at him for a while. "You look like shit," she says.  
  
"Right back at you," Jaffar replies. "Can you move?"  
  
"No. Hurts too much." She rubs her face with her good hand. "I think I might be, like… really sick."  
  
"Yeah, a little," Jaffar agrees, obviously exasperated. "No shit, Nino."  
  
"I thought it was allergies," Nino protests. "Right, yeah, let me just fuckin'— find a _medic_ in the middle of nowhere. What was I _s'posed_ to do, genius?"  
  
"Hey, guys, here's a suggestion," Lyn cuts in. "Can we resume this somewhere that's _not_ on the ground? Just a thought."  
  
"Our campsite isn't far," Florina adds. "And I'm no doctor, but that shoulder wound doesn't look good."  
  
"Oh, yeah, I got shot," Nino remembers. "A week ago, or something. Raiders. Hi, Florina."  
  
Florina inhales through her nose. "Hi, Nino. Week-old wounds aren't supposed to look like that," she says, very patiently. "Or _smell_ like that, for that matter."  
  
Nino considers this. "You know, that _is_ weird," she realizes. "I guess I just didn't notice."  
  
"Could we _possibly_ move now," Legault suggests.  
  
"Florina and I will lead the two of you to the campsite," Lyn orders. "Jaffar, you take her. We'll take the baby, he seems to like Florina best. I don't suppose either of you know any medicine?"  
  
"I know enough to handle an infected wound," Legault says. "Jaffar, get her something to bite on. Moving is _probably_ going to hurt."  
  
Nino frowns. "Uncle Legault?"  
  
Jaffar grimaces, digging an extra piece of leather out of somewhere on his person and giving it to Nino. "I hate medicine," he mumbles. "Sorry, Nino."  
  
Hugh, meanwhile, has stopped understanding what's going on. But he understands enough that it scares him— he understands that Nino's sicker than she'd thought and it hurt her to move, and Florina keeps saying things to him that are soft and nice so he believes her, but things are Complicated and Happening and Grown People are Worried and he is Very Small, so they are automatically Scary.  
  
Florina purses her lips. "Hey, Hugh," she says to him. "Do you like pegasi?"  
  
Hugh _loves_ pegasi. He plays it cool. "Mm-hmm," he says.  
  
Florina smiles. "How would you like to fly on one?"  
  
Make no mistake, Hugh is still upset— he understands just enough to know that he should be scared but not enough to know why and isn't old enough to really process it, which isn't a very good combination. But he gets to ride on a pegasus, so maybe it's not the _worst_ day ever.  
  
XXVII.  
  
The next few days, at least for Nino, go by in a painful, feverish blur. The first part, cutting away her shirt and cleaning out the wound, are the worst, easy— like her attempt at healing, except constant and therefore worse. But once it's over, all there is that's left to do is for the infection to work its way out. She sleeps through most of it, but every time she wakes up to eat or cooperate while someone, usually Florina, changes the bandages around her shoulder, she feels a little better, until she realizes that she can actually move without excruciating pain.  
  
Lyn's tent home is warm, even when Nino pushes the thick blankets down. It still hurts to flex her bandaged shoulder, but she can move her arm, which is more than she could've said yesterday. She's in her underwear with her shoulder bandaged up, which suits her just fine because despite the chilly evening it seems to be, she's hot under the thick blankets. The tent is cluttered, but she spots her bag at the foot of the low cot. There's a bedroll just beside the cot. Hugh's stuffed pegasus sits at one end, but there's no Hugh in sight.  
  
Jaffar's quiet, but she can tell he's there— it's easy if you know what to listen for. He pushes a bowl of food into her hands. His eyes are still bruised, but a little less so.  
  
"You still look like shit," she tells him. Her voice feels scratchy. The bowl holds a Sacaean dish Nino doesn't know the name of, made with rice and herbs and some kind of seeds, maybe.  
  
Jaffar grunts. "You don't look much better. How do you feel?"  
  
Nino considers his question. "Pretty good," she decides. "You know, considering."  
  
"You _did_ kind of get shot," Jaffar agrees. "Bad move, by the way. Really not your finest moment."  
  
Nino rolls her eyes. "It could've been a lot worse."  
  
"Yeah, it could've," Jaffar says pointedly. "You could've _died_. Either then, or later, if you left that infection long enough."  
  
Nino stirs the rice in the bowl with the spoon. "Well, both of us made it out alive," she says. "That's what matters."  
  
Jaffar sighs. He seems to weigh his options for what to say next for quite some time— he talks more than he used to, but never needlessly.  
  
"Nino," he begins. "I don't want you to die."  
  
"I won't die," she says.  
  
"Then try harder not to." Jaffar stands back up. "I'll let the others know you're feeling better."  
  
"How long was I out?" Nino asks. "Hugh—"  
  
"He's outside, playing patty-cake with Florina," Jaffar says. "And you were out of it for… two, three days? Not that long."  
  
That's not so bad. Her shoulders relax. Jaffar lingers, like he wants to stay but isn't sure how to make himself useful, and Nino takes pity on him.  
  
"When did you get a dragon?" she asks. "Was I hallucinating that part?"  
  
Jaffar pauses, then shakes his head. "Bern. Legault said we needed easy transport, doing what we do."  
  
"Which is?" Nino prompts.  
  
"Mercenary work." Which probably isn't the whole truth, but it's either all Jaffar knows or all he's willing to say, so Nino drops it.  
  
"Jaffar," she ventures, before she can lose her nerve. "You know I never… _wanted_ to die."  
  
Jaffar is quiet. He nods.  
  
"I'd always— sort of— _expected_ to, though," she continues. It feels strange to actually say it. "That one day I'd just sort of die and that'd be that. But that can't be the case anymore. I have to live."  
  
Jaffar nods again.  
  
Nino frowns. "I _want_ to live," she says. "But I don't know how to do that."  
  
At that, Jaffar's brows furrow together in thought. He sits down on the end of the bed, his arms folded. "I guess there are a lot of ways to do that," he says. "Legault says to pick something to live for and just kind of do that."  
  
"That simple?" Nino asks.  
  
Jaffar shrugs. "It's worked for me so far. But what do I know?" He stands back up. "Lyn will want to know you're up. I'll get her."  
  
Jaffar leaves, and Nino turns her attention to her rice. She hesitates, but after the first bite, it's appetizing enough that she's inhaled the whole bowl by the time Lyn pushes the tent door flap aside.  
  
"Hey, stranger," she says, cheerier than Nino would've expected. "I hear you're feeling better."  
  
"A whole lot," Nino says, and means it. She sets the bowl on the little crate serving as a bedside table. Lyn sits down cross-legged at the bedside. She takes Nino's hands in both of hers and holds her knuckles to her forehead, and she stays like that for a second. Nino had missed that. She mirrors the gesture when Lyn lets go.  
  
"So, what brings you and your cousin down to Sacae, anyway?" Lyn asks. "Jaffar didn't tell me. I suppose he figured it was your story to tell."  
  
Nino hesitates, but she trusts Lyn. Lyn understands. "Canas and Ivy got caught in an avalanche up in Ilia, about two months back," Nino tells her. "And we were supposed to stay with Niime— Canas's mother— but I… couldn't. You know." She hopes Lyn knows her well enough to extrapolate from there, since she can't force the words out of her throat.  
  
Lyn nods. She doesn't question it past that. Instead she stays quiet, shifting through a bag. There's a deliberate absence of _sorry for your loss_ — not because Lyn isn't sorry, and not because she doesn't know what else to say, but because Lyn often lets silence speak for itself, if words don't need to be there.  
  
"Hugh's a cute kid," she says, breaking the silence. "You scared him, you know."  
  
Nino's memory cuts back to the night with the raiders— the blood, the pain from trying to heal herself, Hugh crying and telling her that he thought she'd die, too, just like his parents. She'd promised him and herself that she wouldn't die while he still needs her, though she's not off to a great start.  
  
Nino feels awful. "Yeah," she mumbles. "I know. Jaffar told me I need to get better at trying not to die."  
  
"Sound advice," Lyn agrees. She hands Nino a soft blue shirt with red and yellow triangles embroidered around the collar and sleeves. Nino takes it, scooting herself out from the bed and wincing when she tries to put weight on her hurt shoulder.  
  
Lyn helps her put it on. "Did you get enough to eat?"  
  
Nino nods. "Thanks, Lyn."  
  
"Anytime." Lyn smooths down her tangled hair and drops a kiss on her crown. "You should find Florina next— she'll show you where you can take a bath. I bet that sounds appealing."  
  
XXVIII.  
  
Nino had underestimated just how much better being clean would help her feel. Florina helps her wash off all the grime and dried blood and work through the tangles in her hair— and she'd accumulated more than she'd thought. She's surprised at how long it is, and the difference it makes when Florina trims off the frayed ends and gets her bangs out of her eyes. With her clothes clean (there had been no saving her shirt, so Nino changes into her spare and makes a note to get a new one when they reach Bern), Nino feels like a whole new person even with the bandaged shoulder.  
  
Hugh starts crying all over again when he sees Nino up and about, and then latches himself onto her and refuses to let go, even when the tears stop and he starts telling Nino about how Florina took him for a ride on her pegasus. Everyone else insists that Nino take it easy until she's healed— which includes traveling. Nino's the only one of them with even a little real medical training, but she's outvoted, so stay put they will.  
  
It's only for another week. Nino doesn't feel quite the same urgency to move as she did in Ilia, but even so, she knows she can't stay even to join Lyn and Florina. A nomadic lifestyle is more than her lungs can handle, and it doesn't have the security that a city or even a town would offer. But there's comfort to Nino in being with people she trusts, even if she knows it's not permanent.  
  
By the time the week is out, Nino feels fine— better than she's felt in a while, she's surprised to realize. The wound in her shoulder is sore but not agonizing, and healed enough that she doesn't have to keep it bandaged. She feels well enough to travel again, and this means that it's come time to leave. Legault and Jaffar were headed to Bern City anyway, and Legault tells her that Jan's moved there and started a store, or something (he doesn't care enough to remember), so she won't have to worry about paying for an inn as long as they're staying there. It makes the most sense to all go together, so that's what they're going to do.  
  
So she packs their things back up into the familiar bag that's gone with them all the way from Ilia— bedrolls and clothing and their quilt and a map, the sweaters and mittens and stockings it's too hot to wear now that winter's over, the pair of tomes and the knife that's been more useful for utility than combat, the waterskin and Nino's sewing kit and Hugh's faithful stuffed pegasus, and more of Hugh's rocks that he'd slipped in to keep when Nino wasn't looking and that Nino chucks back out into the world. Six weeks wasn't a long time in the grand scheme of things, but it was a long time to be traveling, and the bag had carried them through all of it.  
  
They set out to leave in the morning. It's a two-day flight to Bern City, and they need all the daylight they can get. With the wyvern mounts fed and rested, Legault checks all the safety harnesses and makes Hugh's and Nino's a little tighter, just in case.  
  
Lyn and Florina pause packing up their own campsite to see them off. It's another goodbye, but there's no real sorrow. Nino supposes it's because they were only ever just passing through— travelers who stuck together for a while but are following separate paths.  
  
"Take care of yourselves," Florina calls. She looks so small from the back of Jaffar's wyvern, even though they haven't taken off yet. "Stay safe, wherever you end up, okay?"  
  
"Promise," Nino calls down. "And you, too!"  
  
"I'd say to write, but," Lyn shrugs. She has her arm around Florina's shoulders, hand resting on her waist. "Don't expect a quick response if you do. Big country."  
  
"Legault, make sure Nino and Hugh get to Bern safely," Florina calls to Legault.  
  
Legault salutes. He has Hugh strapped in in front of him, and had to punch extra holes in the buckles to get them snug. "You have my word, whatever that's worth. Is that all?"  
  
Lyn holds up a hand. "Just a second," she promises. She pulls out some kind of round tin and holds it up. "Nino, catch!"  
  
Nino catches it. Something rattles inside when she does. The tin is unfamiliar, but Lyn had to have given it to her for a reason. Lyn nods, encouraging her to open it. Nino does, and the smell of gingerbread wafts into the air from the several dozen crunchy gingerbread cookies packed into the little tin. She immediately feels her heart swell.  
  
"I convinced Hector to give me the secret recipe before Florina and I left for Sacae," Lyn says, grinning in satisfaction, tucking her arm back around Florina and giving her a squeeze. "Assuming you're going somewhere with an oven, you'll make better use of it than I will."  
  
Nino wants to jump down and hug Lyn again, but doesn't. She feels her throat clog with tears. "Thanks," she says thickly. "That's— it's perfect."  
  
Lyn reaches up and pats Nino's knee— the highest she can reach. "If you're ever in Sacae again, you'll find me eventually," she says. "Me and Florina. So if Bern doesn't work out, or Lycia or wherever it is you go— you've got a home here, Nino."  
  
"We're your family," Florina promises. She's smiling, and though Nino can see the tears in her eyes, she's doing a better job of holding it together than Nino is.  
  
Nino nods. She doesn't trust herself to speak, wiping her tears away with the heel of her hand and clutching the cookie tin to her chest. She manages to keep herself from breaking entirely until they're off the ground, with wind whipping through her hair and Lyn and Florina tiny, indistinct dots on the ground below.  
  
Hugh frowns, and reaches back to tug on Legault's shirt. "Meemo's crying," he says. "She still hurting?"  
  
Legault glances over. "Nah, not like that," he says. "It's good crying."  
  
That makes even less sense. "Good crying?"  
  
"Sometimes, when you're really happy, you cry," Legault explains. "Everyone does. It's just a lot of feeling."  
  
"Oh." Hugh accepts that. "Is Meemo gonna be okay?"  
  
Legault chuckles. "Don't worry about that, little man," he says. "She's gonna be just fine."


	8. XXIX-XXXII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So far from home, where the ocean stood down dust and pinecone tracks._

XXIX.  
  
They reach Bern City after dark after their second day of traveling. It's huge, its streets lined with torches and braziers that draw out the city layout from the darkness. The castle stands stern and imposing right in the center of it all, red flags flying from the parapets. Nino's seen that castle before— it's impossible to miss if you live anywhere near the city. It looks just the same as it did the last time she saw it, though she supposes castles don't change very much from year to year like people do.  
  
Flying mounts aren't allowed in the tighter streets, so Legault and Jaffar land at a stable just outside city limits and pay to board the wyverns for a few days. They'll have to walk the rest of the way to Jan's place, but Legault promises that it's not a very long walk— especially compared to walking across half of Sacae.  
  
Hugh had been asleep when they touched down, and isn't awake enough to walk, so Nino carries him like she did for miles through Ilia and Sacae, when it was just them. She follows Legault and Jaffar through the city streets, paved in brick and cobblestone, past night delivery carts and the light foot traffic of people going out to work the night shift, past city guards on patrol and groups of laughing, slurring workers stumbling home after a night at the tavern. The buildings are tall and narrow and have numbers nailed to the doors and narrow alleyways leading to the back streets, shops on the first floor and homes on the second.  
  
Jan's place is one of these, but since it's closed, Legault leads them into one of the back streets, where the backs of each building face each other. Clotheslines cross overhead, laundry drying in the night air. Legault stops in front of a place with stairs leading up to a second-floor entrance, a collection of potted plants crowded against the back wall, and a half-dismantled armchair with its stuffing falling out.  
  
"Bet he's asleep," Legault mutters. "Jaffar?"  
  
Jaffar tilts back one of the potted plants and hands Legault a key. Legault takes it. He goes up the stairs, knocks sharply on the door, and waits for a minute. When nothing happens, he unlocks the door and waltzes in like he owns the place, nodding for Nino and Jaffar to follow his lead.  
  
The door opens into what looks like a normal home, with a little kitchen and dining table at one end of the room and a little living area at the other, though the normalcy is lessened by the fact that the space is full of more broken furniture, piles of shabby clothing, dented and de-stringed musical instruments, and damaged books, as well as a huge assortment of various tools, only a fraction of which Nino could even hope to name. There’s a fat gray tabby asleep on top of a low bookshelf that wakes up when they enter the room, mrrps at them, then decides they’re not worth the effort. Legault pokes at the hearth to bring the embers back to life, making the room a little brighter. Nino sets Hugh down in the armchair to give her arms a break.  
  
Slowly, the bedroom door opens. An old man in a nightcap shuffles out, wielding a cane like a weapon. Then he takes a look around, realizes who it is, and narrows his eyes at Legault.  
  
Legault opens his arms like he's expecting applause. "I _know_ we didn't send word ahead of time, but—"  
  
Jan bonks him with the cane and huffs. "Could've told me who you were before barging into my home," he mutters in his familiar wheezy voice, lighting a nearby lamp with a match from his pocket. "And at _this_ hour? Don't you know people sleep?"  
  
Legault rubs the spot on his skull where the cane hit. "Easy, old man, easy. You'll blow your back out doin' that. Ow!" Jan had bonked him again.  
  
The cat’s ears twitch. It glowers halfheartedly, stretches, and starts sniffing Jaffar in search of treats. Jaffar does not move.  
  
"Hello, Uncle Jan," Nino says, instead of waiting for Legault to announce her. He hasn't changed much in the year since she'd seen him, either, just like the castle— probably because he's about that old.  
  
Jan immediately changes his tune. "Little Nino!" he realizes, shuffling over to squish her face in his hands like he's checking to see if she's real. It's then that Nino realizes he's a little shorter— or maybe she's just grown. "Goodness! I thought— well, Legault told me you'd gone up north to Ilia! And who's…" His brow furrows when he notices Hugh in the chair. Hugh has slept through all of this excitement.  
  
Nino winces. "It's a long story," she says.  
  
"Nino and her cousin are traveling and could use a place to stay for a while," Legault sums it up for her. "Jaffar and I are just passing through. We'll be out of your hair tomorrow."  
  
"In and out all the time," Jan grumbles. "Don't you ever tire of moving all around? Nino, you and your little boy are welcome to stay here as long as you need."  
  
Nino hadn't expected him to kick them out, but a weight lifts itself off her chest anyway. "Thanks, Uncle."  
  
"And I suppose you boys can stay, too," Jan sighs. "Not that _I_ have much say in the matter, with you finding my extra key and going in and out as you please."  
  
"Maybe _you_ should stop leaving your extra key in such obvious places," Legault mutters. Jan bumps his shin with his cane.  
  
"There's space for you children in the attic," Jan says. "The little one, too. You can handle that, lad. Legault can take the sofa. I suppose you've stopped by to see Brendan and the boys?"  
  
Nino feels a pang in her chest. She'd avoided thinking about the Reeds, since Canas and Ivy were fresher on her mind, but she feels their loss, too, heavy and sore. She wishes her memories of them weren't tainted with a presence she'd rather forget.  
  
"Well, if we're around, we might as well," Legault shrugs. He makes himself sound flippant, but Nino knows that isn't the case. "What say you, Nino? Wanna visit with us?"  
  
"Sure," Nino says. She pushes back the lump in her throat and coughs. "Sorry. Tired."  
  
"Traveling must be tiring," Jan agrees. "I'm going back to bed, since you lot clearly don't need me to play host— oh, but please don’t touch anything. I have a system.” His system had taken over his entire living space.  
  
"Don't worry about a thing, old man," Legault promises. "We can look after ourselves. You'll hardly know we're here."  
  
Jan sighs heavily and goes back to bed, his cat trotting behind him. Jaffar's already moved his and Nino's things up the steep, narrow staircase to the attic. Legault plops himself down on the sofa with a heavy sigh. Nino goes to pick Hugh up to take him upstairs, but hesitates.  
  
"Jaffar told me you've been traveling together," she says. "Doing… 'mercenary work.'"  
  
"Not a lie, technically," Legault says. "We pick up a few jobs here and there to pay for lodging and such."  
  
"But it's not your job," Nino guesses.  
  
"Right you are, Peapod," Legault nods. He shrugs off his dark coat and leaves it draped over the back of the couch. "We're tracking down old members of the Black Fang and telling them it's done with, to distance themselves from that part of their life as much as they possibly can. So, you know, basically the opposite of my job under Sonia."  
  
"What happens when there's no more Black Fang members to track down?" Nino asks. "What then?"  
  
Legault considers this. "I suppose I'll take up tapestry,” he guesses. "Find a rich man. Make him fall in love with me. Live the rest of my life from the comfort of the estate wearing all the fine clothing and shiny jewelry that I desire. Any thief's dream, really."  
  
Nino knows that's not the case, but she chuckles anyway. "That's your future?" she says. "Being a trophy spouse?"  
  
"Better than nothing," Legault shrugs. "What about you, Peapod? And I don't mean what you think realistically will happen. Wildest dreams. Think big."  
  
Nino frowns. "I don't know if I know how to do that," she mumbles.  
  
Legault reaches back and cuffs her sleeve. "Never will if you don't try it now," he says. "Come on, kid. Use that big smart brain of yours."  
  
Nino thinks. "Well," she begins. "I think I want… a bookshelf. Full of books."  
  
"Good start, good start," Legault nods.  
  
"It'd be in a house somewhere safe," Nino adds. "In a town, probably, so Hugh has other kids to play with. It'd be warm enough that I wouldn't get sick so often. And do you know those yellow flowers that grow all around Ilia in the springtime? The ones that look like bells?"  
  
"Daffodils?" Legault guesses.  
  
"Yeah, those," Nino agrees. "I want some of those."  
  
Legault pictures this. He nods in approval. "Make it work, then," he says. He shifts, stretching and arching his back like a cat getting comfortable for its fourth nap of the day. "All there is to it."  
  
It sounds easy when he says it. And maybe it is— Legault's smarter than he lets on, a lot of the time. "Thanks, Uncle Legault," she says.  
  
Legault yawns. "Everything finds its place eventually," he says. "Better get to bed. We'll be up early tomorrow."  
  
So Nino takes Hugh upstairs and tucks him into the bedding Jaffar's spread out on the most secure spot on the attic floor (the attic, similarly, is full of secondhand goods in varying states of repair). Jaffar's lying down, but Nino knows he's not asleep. He doesn't say anything, though, so Nino leaves him alone as she changes into her nightshirt and crawls into bed on the far side. Jaffar is always the last to fall asleep— old habits die hard.  
  
Nino trusts him. She lets herself rest.  
  
XXX.  
  
Brendan Reed and his sons are buried in unmarked graves under the twisted tree on the old Black Fang land. Nino can only even tell they're graves by the sticks poked into the ground in place of headstones, and the wilted bunches of wildflowers set on top.  
  
They keep the visit short, and quiet. Nobody talks. Nino doesn't think she could, anyway— she's having enough trouble just breathing. Grief aches in her stomach, its thorns poking her from the inside, the feeling gnarled and twisted and uncomfortable no matter which way she turns.  
  
Crying is strange. For the longest time, it felt like she'd forgotten how. And then she found out that it wasn't that she didn't know how, but that she didn't cry at normal things like pain and fear, which made it especially strange when she found herself bursting into tears when Erk said she was talented. (She likes to think she's gotten better about that, but the jury's still out.) And now here she is, and she feels it behind her eyes and in her throat like she should, but nothing comes out.  
  
But nobody says anything. They walk back to Jan's house in silence, and for once, Nino welcomes it.  
  
XXXI.  
  
Jan’s shop is called Reeds’ Secondhand Goods. It started out as Reeds’ General Goods, but that idea kind of ended up flying out the window in favor of another, so he changed the store name to reflect it.  Even Jan doesn’t know how the change started, exactly. He thinks it’s because he bought some goods from a traveler that struck him as being sellable, with a little retouching, and then one thing led to another and now there’s secondhand furniture and clothing and other goods in varying states of repair all throughout his house and people come to him to sell broken things that they no longer want, and he repairs it and adds it to his stock.  
  
Jan likes what he does. It’s honest work, and it satisfies him, fixing broken things that other people didn’t want and finding them a new place. Nino thinks Legault might make a snide comment about how he can’t leave well enough alone, but Legault, expression unreadable, only shrugs noncommittally and says _whatever works for you, old man._  
  
Nino knows that Jan wouldn’t demand any kind of repayment, but Nino feels restless at the idea of living somewhere where there’s work to do without at least helping with some of it, so Jan concedes and they divide out the workload that running the store and the house involves. He digs out an apron for her and teaches her how to make a sale and appraise the value of something someone tries to sell them, and when it’s Jan’s turn to mind the floor, she does what chores need to be done, takes care of Hugh, and fills her spare time with fixing the shabby re-sold clothing. Nino can’t repair furniture like Jan can, but she can sew, and splitting the workload lets them both get more done.  
  
Nino puts Hugh to bed after she closes the store and Jan makes them dinner. Usually Legault and Jaffar are out and about by then, especially once Jan’s turned his attention to his current repair project (the armchair out back, which is too big to get up the stairs). Tonight, though, Legault and Jaffar are still home, drawing out a travel plan on a map— they plan to leave midmorning tomorrow.  
  
Legault nods to her. “Hey, Peapod,” he says. “Getting used to the daily grind?”  
  
“I manage okay, I guess,” Nino shrugs, hanging her apron on a peg. “Where are you bound for?”  
  
“Back up north, to western Ilia,” Legault says. “Now that the weather’s warm, it’ll be easier to track down who we’re trying to track down. Less snow in the way.”  
  
Nino hums acknowledgement. Her feet ache. She sits down in the armchair. Jan’s cat hops into her lap and purrs, searching for affection. Nino scratches his ears idly.  
  
Legault stretches, cracking his neck, and folds the map back up. “I just think it’s about time we got on the road again,” he says. “Can’t mooch off of Jan forever or he’ll put us to work. We’d have to learn how to reupholster couches.”  
  
Jaffar wouldn’t mind that, but grunts his agreement anyway.  
  
“You think you’re gonna move soon too, Peapod?” Legault asks.  
  
Nino considers this. “No,” she says. “No, I think we’ll stay here for a while. I’m not really sure where to go from here.”  
  
Legault shrugs. “Fair enough,” he says. He leans back, letting the silence linger as he casts his gaze around the room. Nino picks up where she’d left off with fixing the worn-out seams on an old doublet, and Legault’s eyes settle on her hands, tightening the old stitches.  
  
“You know,” Legault says, sounding like he’s about to say something he’s been thinking about a lot. “Brendan would’ve loved this place.”  
  
Nino frowns. “He would’ve?”  
  
“Yeah,” Legault nods. “He had big dreams. Bigger than farming. He was a farmer, you know— this was before I met him. But he was a farmer, and so was his father, and his father before him.”  
  
She tries to picture Brendan Reed, all rough skin and coarse hair and gnarled battle scars, standing in a wheat field with a pitchfork and a straw hat, and it feels alien. “I can’t ever picture Father farming.”  
  
"Oh, he _hated_ it," Legault chuckles. “Split off from his family to seek his fortune the first chance he got. He wanted to help people, to start a group of respectable mercenaries that’d get rid of corrupt nobles and help the poor. And he did, but he did a lot more than just that. The Black Fang, at least when it was true to his vision, was his pride and joy. But I don’t think he ever realized how much he helped the rest of us.”  
  
Legault sighs. Jan’s cat hops off Nino’s lap, climbs over Legault, and plops himself onto Jaffar. Nino doesn’t know what to say, and keeps sewing.  
  
“I can’t speak for folks that came in later, but,” Legault says. “A lot of us didn’t have anything before Brendan came along with the Black Fang. He pulled me out of a gutter when I was… oh, around your age. Eleven or so.”  
  
“I’m fifteen, Uncle Legault.”  
  
“Same thing.” Legault waves a hand noncommittally. “My point is, what Jan’s doing now, taking broken things and then fixing them up and giving them a new purpose— that’s what Brendan did. That’s what the Black Fang was, in its heyday, even if Brendan never realized.”  
  
That resonates somewhere within Nino, even if she can’t tell why or where. “He made it a family,” she says. “The Black Fang. It was your family.”  
  
Legault smiles wryly, looking at the fire. “I suppose it was,” he says. Then he stands, and pats Nino’s shoulder. “Better get to bed. We plan to leave pretty early, and you kids need your sleep. That means you, too, Smiley.” Jaffar rolls his eyes just enough for Nino to be able to tell that Legault means him.    
  
Nino knows he’s right. “You too, right?” she says, putting her mending away and getting to her feet.  
  
“Don’t worry about me,” Legault replies. “That’s _my_ job. Sleep tight, Peapod.”  
  
Hugh’s already asleep, his thumb in his mouth and his faithful stuffed pegasus tucked in his arm. Nino smooths out the covers and pushes his hair off his face while Jaffar changes into his nightwear. Hugh stirs, his face scrunching up as he dreams, and he mumbles something that sounds like mama around his thumb. Nino rubs his shoulder, murmuring quiet reassurances, until he stills again.  
  
Jaffar sits back on his side of the bedding. There’s a pile of knives of varying sizes laid out on his spot of floor, and Nino knows Jaffar well enough to know there’s another one under his pillow. Nino changes into her nightshirt, one of Jan’s old ones, and sits on her pallet to brush her hair.  
  
“I don’t think you need to worry much,” Jaffar tells her, keeping his voice low so it won’t wake Hugh, which isn’t hard for Jaffar.  
  
Nino blinks. “Worry about what?”  
  
“Hugh,” Jaffar clarifies. “You’re worried you won’t raise him right. That you’ll just raise him how Sonia raised you.”  
  
Nino feels uncomfortably pinned. “Are you _sure_ you can’t read minds, Jaffar?”  
  
Jaffar shrugs. “I don’t have to. Half of it was written all over your face a second ago when you tucked him back in. The other half is just because I know you.”  
  
Nino hesitates. “How do you know I won’t screw up, then?”  
  
“You care,” Jaffar says. “Sonia never once cared. You’re already halfway there.”  
  
“I can’t—“ Nino starts. She hesitates again. “I’ll never be Ivy. I’m not his mother.”  
  
“Maybe so,” Jaffar admits. “But Ivy’s not the one raising him now, is she? _Meemo_.” He smirks, poking fun at Hugh’s mispronunciation of her name, and Nino scoffs and slugs him, though she can’t hide the smile on her face.  
  
“Whatever, _Smiley_ ,” she replies. Jaffar grimaces and she laughs— quietly, since Hugh’s still sleeping. She takes a second to check and make sure, then pulls her bedcovers back. As much as she rejects being called a kid, Legault is right.  
  
She hesitates. “Hey,” she says to Jaffar. “Thanks.”  
  
Jaffar grunts and nods, then lies down on his pallet and turns over— his way of saying _don’t mention it._  
  
The night is quiet. Nino can see the stars through the attic window, and watches them slowly, slowly move across the night sky, until sleep claims her, too.  
  
XXXII.

Jaffar and Legault set out to leave the next morning, and Jan puts off opening the shop in order to properly see them off. Nino will miss them, but she knows it’s not a forever-goodbye— thieves and assassins have their ways, after all, even if it’s just Jaffar come to check on her. They set out to leave while the rest of the city is starting to wake up for another day of civilian normalcy, leaving out the back door.  
  
It’s well past Jaffar’s birthday, but Nino has a gift anyway. She presses the little package into his hands and waits eagerly as he unfolds it.  
  
Jaffar’s brow furrows. “It’s a handkerchief,” he says. Because it is— a square of soft cloth with hemmed edges and little black bits stitched into a corner that would look like ink smudges if they weren’t obviously embroidered. “Why?”  
  
“I don’t know, to clean your knives or something,” Nino shrugs. “Use your imagination.”  
  
“It’s got…” Jaffar squints at the black stitching. “Ants?”  
  
“I think they’re beetles,” Legault says helpfully, in a way that isn’t helpful at all.  
  
Nino huffs. “No, geniuses, they’re _crows_ ,” she says. “I stitched it myself.”  
  
Jaffar seems to understand. “Oh,” he says. Then, “you know my birthday was last month, right?”  
  
Nino’s ears turn red. “It wasn’t _done_ last month. It would’ve been a lame, half-finished present if I’d given it to you then.”  
  
Jaffar nods. “Thank you,” he says, remembering that’s what you’re supposed to do.  
  
“Did you get me anything?” Legault teases. “My birthday’s passed, too.”  
  
“Uncle Legault, I thought you don’t like being reminded of how old you are,” Nino replies.  
  
“I’m willing to put that aside in favor of getting presents.”  
  
Hugh tugs on Legault’s jacket sleeve. “Uncle Lego,” he says. “Where’s your birdies?” Hugh knows six animals and as far as he’s concerned, anything that flies is a bird.  
  
“They’re at the stable,” Legault replies. “They’re too big to be in the city.”  
  
“I wanna say bye-bye to the birdies,” Hugh says. “Meemo, can I?”  
  
“We have to stay here,” Nino explains. “Uncle Legault can tell the birdies bye-bye for you.”  
  
Hugh doesn’t like this idea. “But I wanna,” he mumbles.  
  
Legault crouches to his level. “Hey, little man, I’ve got an idea,” he says. “Uncle Smiley and I will come fly back over the city, and you can wave and tell ‘em bye then. Does that work?”  
  
Hugh considers this. “Okay,” he concedes. “Promise?”  
  
“Promise,” Legault says. Hugh nods firmly, and Legault stands back up. Nino mouths a _thank you._  
  
“Take care,” Jan tells them. “And when you come back to Bern— well, I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
“We’ll visit,” Jaffar says.  
  
“If you haven’t keeled over by then,” Legault snorts. Jan whacks his shin with his cane, but he’s smiling, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes folded up. Legault rolls his eyes. “You take care, too, old man.”  
  
No one in the Black Fang is particularly inclined towards long goodbyes, so Jaffar and Legault meld effortlessly into the foot traffic on the main roads, and Jan goes upstairs to start breakfast. Hugh runs halfway up the stairs, looks back to check that Nino’s following, and then runs up the rest. He stands on his tiptoes, hanging on to the patio rail.  
  
“Meemo, hurry,” he calls. “We gotta say bye to the birdies!”  
  
Nino can’t take stairs that fast. “You know we won’t see them over the city for a while, Hugh,” she says. “Jaffar and Legault have to get to the stables first.”  
  
This doesn’t seem to matter to Hugh. “Hurry,” he insists. Nino hurries, following Hugh up the second staircase and out the attic door to the flat part of the rooftop, where the empty clothesline sways slightly in the breeze. Hugh squints into the wide blue sky, shading his eyes with his hands.  
  
“Uncle Lego an’ Uncle Smiley said promise,” Hugh insists. “Now they _have_ to fly back an’ we have to wave.”  
  
Nino can’t argue with that. “Alright, Hugh,” she agrees. “We can wave to the birdies.”


	9. XXXIII-XXXVIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I want to be your last first kiss._

XXXIII.  
  
Living in the city takes some adjustment. For the first few weeks, Nino gets lost running errands. The streets are loud and crowded during the day, full of people chattering and merchants hawking their goods at roadside stands and bards playing for extra change on the steps of public buildings and the occasional supply cart or carriage rattling through the wider roads. Hugh has to be taught to stay close and not wander too far or try to pet the alley cats, which isn’t too hard, even if the sights and sounds and smells of the big city are endlessly fascinating. Nino works the shop five days a week, which is another thing to get used to, but she finds a routine, and soon it’s just another part of the day— she finishes breakfast, cleans the crumbs off Hugh’s face, and then goes down to open up the shop. The weather warms and the days get longer and the leaves on all the trees grow full and green, the hot, humid warmth of summer settling over the lowlands of Bern.  
  
The city is full of people, and unexpectedly, Nino thrives in areas like this— even with the city full of strangers, it comforts her knowing that there are people there at all, washing dishes and going to work and playing with chalk and lengths of extra clothesline. She’s underestimated how much she would miss it, how warm the idea of a living, breathing space felt, even if she could only watch from the sidelines until it was made clear she was welcome.  
  
Warm may not be the right word; as it simmers in Nino’s mind, she thinks it might be better defined as the absence of cold, and the cold, she knows, is loneliness. As real and dangerous and scary as the war was, the campaign was the first time Nino got more than occasional tastes of what that absence of loneliness feels like— the first time she realizes that she not only wants to feel that warmth, she craves it. When the war ended she felt the warmth in Canas and Ivy and the house in the mountains, only for life to rip it from her grasp and bring back the chill in full force. But now she feels it again, not only in the hearth but in the chips in the crockery, the loose fur in the upholstery, the creaking in the attic stairs, the laundry drying on lines set up on the flat part of the roof. She feels it in the jingling of the bell when someone enters the store, in the sea shanties Jan whistles as he waters his tomato plants, in cutting the crusts off Hugh’s toast and tossing them to the pigeons flocking in the back roads outside.  
  
It feels like home, Nino realizes. It feels like family.  
  
XXXIV.  
  
The school year ends not long after Jaffar and Legault leave, meaning that suddenly there are more children out on any given day— Nino sees them pass by Jan’s shop on their way out of the candy shop two doors down, sometimes eyeing the oddities on display. Few come in, and even so, they rarely stick around, only pawing at the racks of clothing (Nino’s organized them by style and size) or looking with mild interest at the shelves of old toys. Nino’s grown used to it.  
  
“This one is labeled wrong,” a boy tells her, during one of these long workdays with details faded to monotony. The windows are opened to try and get a breeze through the cramped storefront, not that it helps, and it’s so hot that both Hugh and Nino have foregone shoes indoors until the seasons change again, and Nino’s taken to wearing dresses without sleeves and tying her hair up behind her head.  
  
Nino looks up from the counter, where she’d been idly doodling flowers and birds in the margins of her journal. Hugh’s sitting on the counter with a picture book Jan dug out, looking at the pictures because he can’t read the words. The boy on the other side of the counter is tall, blonde, and he looks about seventeen (though the way his face settles in a natural scowl makes him look older— even so, he's definitely a boy, not a man), and he’s in well-fitted, expensive-looking clothes. She has to take a second to process what he said, especially since he gives no indication what he’s talking about.  
  
“I’m sorry?” she manages. “Do you need help with something?”  
  
“Yes,” the boy says. There’s a thick textbook under one of his arms, which he presumably plans to buy. He’s standing next to the shelf of old toys, and gestures to the set of tin soldiers on one shelf when Nino moves out from behind the counter. “These soldiers are labeled incorrectly. You’ve labeled them as being a Lycian infantry division, but Lycian infantrymen carry spears, not sabers, and their doublets have four buttons, while these soldiers’ doublets have six buttons and a vented back.”  
  
_Alright, rich boy_ , Nino thinks. She doesn’t say that. “My uncle wrote the label,” she says. “I’ll have him make a new one.”  
  
“As he ought to,” the boy agrees. “This is an incomplete division of Etrurian infantrymen. Their divisions have twenty men, led by a mounted lieutenant-general.”  
  
He’s not just rich enough to get an education that teaches about this kind of thing, he’s clearly the kind of rich kid that _cares_ about it. Nino is all for knowledge for knowledge’s sake, but she would rather not have it explained to her like she’s an idiot. “Interesting. Can I help you with anything else?”  
  
“I’d like to buy this,” the boy says, handing her the book. Nino plops it on the counter and writes its title and price down in the purchase log.  
  
“Sixty gold,” she tells him. He gives her a single hundred-gold token and she opens the money drawer to hand back four ten-gold tokens.  
  
He glances at the magic scars burned red into her skin. Her encounter with the raiders in Sacae burned them further up her arm. They reach a little higher on her right than her left, but they’re both nearly to her shoulders. There was a time where Nino would’ve been embarrassed at how noticeable they are, but frankly, it’s just too hot to wear sleeves.  
  
_“‘A Treatise on Etruria’s Early Use of War Machines,’”_ Nino reads the cover while writing his reciept. “A little light reading?”  
  
The boy doesn’t seem to acknowledge her joke. “The development of modern siege weaponry is a fascinating topic,” he says. “I would hardly read such a thing lightly.”  
  
Nino resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Well, then, I hope you enjoy it,” she says, tucking his receipt in the front cover and handing it back. He nods and leaves the store, and Nino’s pretty sure that’s the last time she’ll ever see him again, so she can move on with her life and go back to more important things.  
  
XXXV.  
  
Naturally, it is not the last time she sees him.  
  
The summer market’s just begun with the end of the school year, and Nino feels the familiar heat of Bern’s summers. It makes waves in the air off the cobblestoned streets, draws flies to the garbage piled up in alleyways that make the back streets reek, and makes sleeping in the attic horrendous until Nino gives up and just strips off the blankets entirely. The people wear light clothing and wide-brimmed hats and sandals, and when the heat gets to be too much, they hang ice charms in their open windows and wait for the breeze to blow the cool air through the house. Jan’s cat, Charles, spends his time asleep in the sunshine right where the ice charm is strongest, as cats often do. Hugh doesn’t seem to mind the heat, but Nino makes him wear a hat and come inside from playing before the hottest part of the day anyway.  
  
Nino leads Hugh by the hand through the summer market. Hugh toddles beside her, his hat dangling by its cord off the back of his neck, slack-jawed at everything he sees— and there certainly is a lot to see. People bustle past them, most of them taller than Nino (which isn’t hard; Nino has never been tall), carrying baskets full of their own purchases, while merchants lean over their stalls to make deals and shout about their wares at everyone passing. Experienced customers haggle, which Nino has learned is a form of conversation all its own; inexperienced customers pay the asking price and leave without arguing. The summer market takes up the whole city square, so the place is clogged with carts and stalls, but it’s big enough that there’s space by the big, fancy fountain in the center for people to sit on the edge and enjoy the spray from the pumps. Children draw hopscotch squares with chalk while others chase each other with sticks they found, all with bare shins and sunburned cheeks. Girls Nino’s age, carrying baskets for errands their parents have sent them on, crowd together and whisper to each other like they’re trading national secrets even though it’s probably just who’s kissing whom, but it matters very much to them.  
  
A few of them glance at her when she walks by with Hugh. Nino knows they whisper, same as everyone else, but somehow knowing they do gets to her more than knowing about old neighbors who whisper. She wonders if, in another life, she might be one of them— just another teenager with parents and friends, going to school and ignoring everything that goes on outside the city walls just because it’ll never reach her. She wonders, of that Nino, if she’s happy.  
  
“Meemo, lookit!” Hugh pipes up, tugging Nino over to a stall selling painted wooden toys. He reaches out and picks up a tiny figure of a dragon in his little meaty fist. "Bird!"  
  
“Hey, careful with that,” Nino chides, crouching to his level. “Hugh, that’s not yours. You know it’s not nice to grab things that aren’t yours.”  
  
Hugh does know that. He nods and puts the dragon back. “Sorry, Meemo.”  
  
“It’s okay, you fixed the problem before anyone got hurt,” Nino says, standing back up. “Wow, these are really pretty, don’t you think?”  
  
“I like the blue bird,” Hugh says, pointing very carefully to a blue and green dragon. As far as Hugh is concerned, there are only six animals. Jan tells her that he’ll learn better as he grows up.  
  
“It’s lovely,” Nino agrees. The book merchant the next stall over catches her eye— Jan’s always on the lookout for books to stock the store with. While Hugh admires the painted animals, Nino scans the stacks of battered titles. She reaches for one labeled _Folk Tales from Nabata_ and her hand brushes up against someone else’s.  
  
It’s the boy from the shop, Nino realizes. He clears his throat and pulls his hand back. “Go ahead,” he says.  
  
Nino picks up the book, looks it over, and sets it back down. “Thanks,” she replies. “More light reading?”  
  
The boy frowns. “What? Oh—“ then he connects the dots. “You’re the girl from the shop. Has your uncle fixed those labels yet? I feel it’s very important that this oversight be corrected. It’s poor form for merchants to mis-label their goods.”  
  
Nino resists rolling her eyes. “Don’t you worry,” she promises. “It’s our top priority.”  
  
The boy nods. Nino gets the impression that he missed the sarcasm. “That’s good to hear.” Then he pauses. “Wait.”  
  
“Zephiel!” a little girl chirps, tugging on the boy’s sleeve. She’s about seven, and blonde, like him— clearly his sister. She hands him a book with a painted illustration of a unicorn on the back. “This one?”  
  
“Sure, put it with the rest,” Zephiel agrees. He clears his throat and looks back at Nino apologetically. “My sister,” he explains. “Apologies.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it.” Nino does genuinely have bigger things to think about. Zeph fidgets, looking like he wants to keep talking but doesn’t know how, so Nino takes pity on him and offers her hand.  
  
“I’m Nino,” she tells him. “Zephiel, is it?”  
  
“That’s me,” Zephiel nods.  
  
“I’m Guinevere,” Zephiel’s sister pipes up. “Are you and my brother friends?”  
  
“Sure,” Nino shrugs. Sure, why not.  
  
“That’s good,” Guinevere decides. “He doesn’t have any others.”  
  
Zephiel’s ears turn red. “Guinevere!”  
  
“What? It’s true!”  
  
“Go buy a lemonade or something,” Zephiel grumbles, giving her a few silver pieces. Embarrassing her brother completely forgotten, Guinevere cheerfully skips off to do just that. Zeph sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  
  
“I’m sorry about that,” he says. “Guinevere thinks she’s being helpful.”  
  
“I’m told they grow out of that stage,” Nino says.  
  
“One can hope,” Zephiel mumbles. He coughs. “So you… work?”  
  
“Yeah, in my uncle’s shop,” Nino agrees.  
  
“Is it fun?”  
  
“It’s…” Nino hesitates, thinking of an ocean of restoration projects that Jan keeps adding to, and his inability to catalogue anything. “It keeps me busy.”  
  
“You don’t go to school, then?” Zephiel guesses.  
  
Nino shakes her head.  
  
“I figured as much. Since I hadn’t really… seen you at school at all, or… at all, actually, before now.”  
  
“I moved in a few weeks ago.” Why is she telling him all of this? He doesn’t need to know. But Zephiel seems about as dangerous as a muffin— there can’t be any harm in it.  
  
Hugh tugs on her skirt. “Meemo, lunch yet?”  
  
“We still have to find Uncle Jan’s leather polish first, before we can go home for lunch,” Nino tells him. “Once we do that, then we can go.”  
  
Hugh frowns, but doesn’t fuss, leaning against Nino’s leg.  
  
Zephiel looks slightly uncomfortable. “I’ve never been friends with someone with a child before,” he says lamely. “Probably because… it’s not really something people do, at least in… noble circles.” He looks like he regrets every word that comes out of his mouth, but nothing he tries to add makes it any better. It’s kind of funny to watch him flounder, though Nino suspects it wouldn’t be as funny if he were actually offending her like he seems to be afraid of doing.  
  
“Well, I wouldn’t know much about that,” Nino shrugs.  
  
“So what can he… do?” Zephiel gestures vaguely to Hugh, who peers up at him from behind Nino’s skirt. Zephiel grins awkwardly, though it looks more like a grimace, and Hugh hides his face and clutches Nino’s skirt tighter. Zephiel sighs.  
  
This is the most entertained Nino’s felt by socialization since the time a village boy tried to flirt with Jaffar when they were on a supply errand during the war and Nino got to witness how it looked to watch someone screaming on the inside.  
  
Guinevere returns then, and pushes a clay cup with a frost rune pressed into the bottom into Zephiel’s hands. “Are you done trying to be friends, Zeph? You know you’re bad at it.”  
  
“He’s doing fine,” Nino says. “I haven’t run away yet.”  
  
Guinevere snorts. “ _Yet_. Just wait ’til he starts telling you ‘bout school and stuff. He’s goin’ into university next fall so he thinks he knows everything.”  
  
Zephiel’s face turns red. “Guinevere!”  
  
Guinevere does not feel sorry for a single thing. She looks her brother pointedly in the eye and takes a sip of her lemonade.  
  
Nino gives them a polite smile. “I should probably get that thing I need and take Hugh home,” she says. “But it was nice talking to you, Zephiel.”  
  
“Wait,” Zephiel blurts out. He clears his throat. “Do you think we could… chat again sometime? When do you… not work? And, um— you can call me Zeph, too, if you want.”  
  
Alright, she’ll bite. “Zeph, then. I’m off tomorrow evening,” she says. “Should I just meet you here?”  
  
Zephiel looks visibly relieved. “Yes, that’d be— that sounds good. I look forward to it.”  
  
“Me too,” Nino agrees. What follows is a profoundly awkward silence, probably because neither of them know what you’re supposed to say after that. Nino has read a few novels in her spare time where the hero makes a friend, but it’s never quite like this. Usually they’re thrust into battle together and immediately form a soul-bond stronger than steel. Maybe making friends is different when there’s no battles to fight.  
  
So Nino cuts off the awkwardness where she can and melts back into the crowd with Hugh, keeping a hold on his little hand. Hopefully the next time she meets Zephiel will be less awkward.  
  
XXXVI.  
  
Well. Nino wouldn’t say it’s _less_ awkward— more that she comes to realize that Zeph is just awkward by nature, and it’s not so bad once she gets used to his particular brand of awkwardness.  
  
The summer market in the evening is significantly less crowded. The streets are lit with tiny lights in little glass jars. It reflects in the fountain with the backdrop of the sky turning from orange to red to deep blue, starting to pepper with stars. Nino grew up with Bern’s hot, heavy summers, and these are no different— but the city has no cicadas or fireflies to fill the night with music and light, only the haze of people slowly winding down from the long, hot day.  
  
But Nino doesn’t mind. She and Zephiel sit on the rim of the fountain and talk about myths and history and find common ground in the stories that things tell— Zeph has a fondness for artifacts from bygone days telling history that would’ve otherwise been forgotten, and Nino likes going through Jan’s collection of secondhand goods and thinking about what a donated thing says about its previous owners, and the evening slips away into night while they compare the two. The clock tower strikes ten before Nino even realizes how late it’s gotten, but Zeph asks if they can meet up again, and Nino underestimated just how eagerly she’d agree.  
  
And that’s how the first month of summer goes— hours ticked away over antiques and artifacts, and over the stories in the history books they find once Nino gets the brilliant idea of visiting the library. It’s there they spend hours when Nino finishes her shift at Jan’s store, looking at old tomes and speaking in quiet voices while the summer evenings fade to night. Zeph always walks her back to the storefront and waits just long enough that she can open the attic window and wave to him from there, and she’ll watch his retreating back until he turns the corner. But it’s never a goodbye, really, because she knows she’ll see him again.  
  
Gradually the topics of conversation shift from book history to personal history, sharing stories when they’re relevant, and this is how Nino learns about Zephiel. She learns that he’s starting university in the fall, where he’ll be studying engineering and modern warfare. She learns of his family, that he and his father don’t get along very well (to say the least) but he loves his mother and sister, even if Guinevere irks him from time to time. She learns that his family is apparently very important in Bern, but he doesn’t ever say what they do specifically and Nino doesn’t ask— she figures it’s some noble business she wouldn’t understand anyway.  
  
And in return, Nino tells him what she can— about the war, mostly, which he’s very interested in. She tells him she’s never been to school. And she tells him little bits about Sonia and Brendan and her brothers, if it’s relevant. Zephiel doesn’t say much in response, but she finds that she doesn’t need him to— she finds that knowing he’s listening, knowing he understands, is enough.  
  
Midsummer rolls around, the days at their longest and hottest, and the city prepares for its two-day Midsummer Faire— every city has one, clearly, but Nino’s not going to complain. Jan takes her and Hugh to the first day, which has all the fun events for children Hugh’s age, and they run into Zeph with his sister, which is fun for Hugh because he gets to play with someone who won’t get tired as easily as Nino. Zephiel invites her to go with him for the second day, and it sounds like fun, so Nino accepts. She waves goodbye to him like she does every day and goes back upstairs to eat a quick dinner and go to bed— it’s an ordinary day, as far as Nino’s concerned.  
  
Jan hands her a plate. “You’ve been spending quite a lot of time with that Zeph boy lately, Nino,” he remarks.  
  
Nino shrugs, sitting down at the table and scooping some corn onto her fork. “He’s my friend.”  
  
“I think he likes you,” Jan decides. “Haven’t you noticed?”  
  
“Noticed what?” Nino pauses, watching Jan fix the leather stitching on an old shoe. “There’s nothing strange about Zeph. He’s just… you know, the same awkward Zeph.”  
  
Jan sighs. “Nino, that boy wants to _court_ you,” he says. “I would put real money on it.” Charles hops up from his napping spot and rubs against Nino’s leg, pawing at her skirt until Nino tears off a piece of chicken from her dinner and gives it to him.  
  
She pokes at her dinner. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Zeph’s a rich boy. He could probably choose any girl he wanted to court— girls with _dowries_ and stuff.”  
  
“And yet,” Jan chides, moving over to rest a hand on her shoulder. “He’s not spending hours with any of them, is he?”  
  
And as much as Nino hadn’t realized it, Jan is right. And at the realization, something flutters in her stomach— the tickly feeling that someone out there likes her, _wants_ her. And as strange as it is, the strangest part is that she isn’t afraid of it.  
  
XXXVII.  
  
Nino wears pink for the Midsummer Faire, and she brushes her hair so it falls long and soft down her back. She needs to cut it— it’s longer than she’s used to, but maybe for now it works. Nino has never been one to fuss about her appearance overmuch, but the fact that it’s the most immediate problem on the horizon means that it sticks out, and she can’t help but notice her skinny chest, her knobby elbows, and the bags under her eyes.  
  
Jan says she looks wonderful regardless, and even if Zeph does notice what she notices about herself, if he’s not polite enough to keep his mouth shut then he’s not ready to court anyone in the first place. That makes her feel a little better, even if she still feels her stomach churn.  
  
The Midsummer Faire is set up in a roped-off lot just outside the city, in rows of tents and stalls strung with brightly-colored banners and lights. The smells of food fill the air— fried, greasy carnival foods that all boast about being something unique or exotic but probably aren’t. There’s a clamor of music and shouting, vendors hawking goods or challenging passers-by to try their hand at a game mingling with the music accompanying performers every twenty feet. Overhead, stunt riders on wyverns decked out in bells and livery soar through the sticky dusk dragging streamers and drawing the awe of everyone below.  
  
Zeph buys two of something fried, oblong, and skewered that calls itself “fried wyvern gut” and hands one to Nino. Nino looks at him skeptically.  
  
“It’s really sausage,” he says. “Wyvern meat is toxic.”  
  
Well, she’s here for a good time, not a long time. Nino takes a bite and finds that yes, it really is just sausage.  
  
The night goes on, and the lights only get brighter and the sounds louder as the stars start to poke out from the dark curtain of sunset. There’s more food— frozen lemonade and deep-fried sugary dough drizzled in honey and sausages pretending to be things that aren’t sausages, and Zephiel wastes most of his pocket money losing at the carnival games because he can’t turn down a challenge, and they watch dancers and acrobats and bards and silly ten-minute plays set up with tents and lanterns.  
  
A game of darts catches Nino’s eye for the open chest of prizes— trinkets and baubles and toys that nobody needs, but among them, a wooden pegasus with joints on tiny hinges and string for a mane and tail. Nino lingers long enough that Zeph notices.  
  
“I could try to win it for you,” he says.  
  
Nino shakes her head. “No, no, I can’t ask you to do that,” she insists. “Besides, you know how bad your aim is. No matter how nice that toy is, it’s not worth another blow to your pride.”  
  
Zeph smiles wryly. “Thanks for the reminder.”  
  
Nino pats his arm. “Are you still sore about losing the ball toss?”  
  
“It hit the rim! It should’ve gone in!” Zeph protests, for the third time. “It’s just simple physics! All these games are set up for failure. They’re preying on fools with more competitive spirit than sense, tricking them into wasting their money in pursuit of a win.”  
  
Nino shuts her lips tightly to avoid grinning. “Oh, of course. You’re better than that.”  
  
“I am,” Zeph says firmly. “And to prove it, I’m going to win you that toy. Sir, a round of darts, please!” He slaps a silver coin on the carnival stall counter and the vendor, looking doubtful that he’ll win but amused that he’ll try, takes it.  
  
“So your eye’s on the pegasus for your girl, is it, young man?” the vendor asks. “A fine choice. But can you win it?”  
  
“I like a challenge,” Zeph insists. “And I will do whatever it takes! You won’t get in my way!”  
  
Nino sighs. _Boys_.  
  
Zeph has ten darts to try and hit a bullseye, which rotate around a wheel the carnival game manager turns with a crank. The first six miss. He grimaces and throws the seventh even harder and it just barely glances off one of the targets. The eighth sticks in the edge and then falls, and Nino sees fire flare up in Zeph’s eyes. He chucks the ninth with enough force to stick— if he hadn’t missed again, so instead the dart rips through the back panel of the tent.  
  
“One more shot, one more shot,” the vendor calls out. “Can he do it, ladies and gentlemen? Can he win the day?”  
  
“Be silent, or I’ll cut out your tongue,” Zeph growls, which would sound more intimidating if he weren’t a seventeen-year-old boy with ears a bright shade of red.  
  
Nino can’t abide by this. She holds her hand behind her back and puts her other hand on Zeph’s shoulder.  
  
“Don’t give up,” she says. “You’ve still got one shot left.”  
  
Zeph nods grimly and turns back to the target. “Alright. Hartmut, guide my strike!”  
  
Well, Nino doesn’t know anything about Hartmut, but a little wind magic is all it takes for the dart to stick dead center in one of the targets. Zeph and the vendor both stare in awe, and Nino uses that second to wipe the blood away from her nose.  
  
Zeph looks at his hands. “I did it,” he whispers.  
  
The vendor coughs. “Well, fair is fair,” he says. He picks up the toy pegasus and places it in Zephiel’s hands. “You earned it, young sir.”  
  
Zeph’s face breaks into a big, boyish grin. “Thank you!” he says. “I— Nino, here.”  
  
Nino laughs, letting Zeph push the toy into her hands. “Aw, Zeph—“  
  
“It’s yours,” he insists. He coughs, his ears still red. He doesn’t talk for a while, but they keep walking through the paths of the festival.  
  
“You didn’t have to do all that, Zeph,” Nino says. Even if she’d done the last part, but he doesn't need to know that.  
  
Zeph shrugs. “I’m just pleased I managed to win _one_ game. Now I can die a happy man.”  
  
Nino snorts. “You sound like some grandpa— dying a happy man. _How_ old are you again?”  
  
Zeph grins abashedly. “Alright, that’s fair. I just, um… you looked like you really wanted it.”  
  
“Well…” Alright, that’s true. “Pegasi are Hugh’s favorite animal. I thought it’d make a good gift for him.”  
  
Zeph nods. “Well, I hope your son likes it,” he says. Nino doesn’t bother correcting his assumption.  
  
He coughs. “The festival will be ending soon,” he says. “They’re going to do a closing ceremony with fireworks on the fields by the river. Do you want to… watch them with me?”  
  
“Sure,” Nino agrees. _Fireworks_ — she feels her heart beat a little quicker, and tries her hardest to ignore the flush that rises in her cheeks.  
  
XXXVIII.  
  
They sit down on the grass covering the gentle slope of a hill. Other festival-goers are scattered across the hillsides facing the river, where a barge full of explosives floats, moored to a pier. Zeph sets a rented lantern between them, casting orange light over the wooden pegasus toy in Nino’s hands and the dusty blush on Zeph’s cheeks.  
  
They sit together like they sit when they look at books in the library, with their shoulders pressed together, but the difference is that they’re looking at the sky— Zeph looks at Nino, and Nino tucks her hair behind her ear.  
  
It’s silly. It’s ridiculous. Nino fought in a _war_ — Nino walked across the _continent_ and she’s getting her stomach in knots for a boy with pretty eyes and a goofy smile.  
  
The fireworks are stunning, explosions of color and light over the river, and Nino watches them with her breath still in her throat— not in fear, but in awe. When they’re over and the people start to go home, Nino shifts, but Zeph coughs, looking like he has something he wants to say, and Nino settles back down.  
  
“Um,” he says. “Thank you for… for coming out here with me.”  
  
“It’s no problem,” Nino promises. “I had a great time. Thanks for inviting me.”  
  
Zeph swallows. “The truth is,” he says. His cheeks and ears are red in the flickering light. “I… I think I might… have… _feelings_.”  
  
Heat rises to Nino’s cheeks, but she laughs it off. “Everyone has _feelings_ , Zeph,” she teases, giving him a friendly nudge.  
  
“F-for you,” Zeph adds. He looks away, scratching at the pimples on his cheek. “I have… feelings… for _you_.”  
  
_Oh_.  
  
“Oh,” Nino says.  
  
“Yeah,” Zeph says, his voice cracking.  
  
“Feelings like… you like me?” Nino asks.  
  
Zeph nods. “A lot,” he manages.  
  
“Like… _like_ -like me,” Nino repeats.  
  
Zeph nods again. “Is… that okay? That I... _like_ -like you?"  
  
Nino takes a breath and nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, Zeph, it’s okay. I think I might have feelings, too.”  
  
Zeph sighs, giving her a Look. “Must you constantly tease me so?”  
  
And Nino laughs, but it’s okay because Zeph laughs too, and Nino feels her heart do things she didn’t realize it could— it flutters and skips and her stomach feels full of something strange but it’s a good strange. And Zephiel moves his hand on top of hers and holds it, and Nino’s laughter stops, because… _oh_.  
  
She’d forgotten how nice it is to have her hand held.  
  
“Is this okay?” Zeph asks, his voice quiet and his cheeks burning red.  
  
Nino swallows. “Yeah,” she says, closing her hand around his. “Is… are we… boyfriend-girlfriend, or—“ she’s about to laugh and say how childish that is, but it strikes her that, really, they still _are_ children; that Nino is two months from sixteen and Zeph is still newly seventeen himself, and that maybe, if there’s no war to fight and Hugh isn’t depending on her alone, it’s okay for her to be a child from time to time.  
  
“I… think so,” Zeph nods. “Um— Nino… is it okay if I… if we… you know.”  
  
Nino’s face heats up. “If we kiss?” she fills in.  
  
Zeph covers his face with his other hand. He nods. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’ve never— _you know.”_  
  
Nino laughs breathily. “It’s alright,” she promises. “Neither have I. Come on, we won’t know what the big deal is if we don’t try it, right?”  
  
Zeph swallows. “Okay, uh…”  
  
“Just tilt your head down, you big dummy, so I can reach.”  
  
It’s not how the books describe first kisses. It’s not elegant or life-changing or even particularly good. It’s strange and awkward and they can’t figure out where to put their noses, and Zeph’s overbite bumps against the chips in Nino’s crooked teeth, and neither of them know how long it’s supposed to last so they break away inelegantly when Zeph runs out of breath.  
  
And it is absolutely perfect.


	10. XXXIX-XLV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Lift your head and look out the window. Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cannot fucking believe i used to think this would be a oneshot

XXXIX.  
  
Bern’s summers are hot and humid, the air thick and heavy under its own weight. They’re always hottest at the end, before autumn starts to seep its way in. It’s the end of summer, Nino is nearly sixteen, and it has been one year since the war ended and one year since Nino moved in with Canas and Ivy and Niime and Hugh.  
  
Autumn never announces itself with bursts of cold and colorful leaves, but with crisper skies and drier air, and then suddenly you look around and the trees are yellow and orange and there are piles of them that the wind blows down when the breeze picks up. Nino sweeps the piles off the store’s front stoop. Sometimes she’ll find an excuse to do it when her shift’s about to end, even if there aren’t that many leaves, just so she can look like she’s doing anything other than waiting for Zephiel when she is, in fact, waiting for Zephiel.  
  
Zephiel is wonderful. Nino doesn’t understand it, because they haven’t changed very much about what they do— they still talk about stories and antiques in the library, still share their own when they’re relevant, and Nino still teases him when her jokes fly over his head. But what’s changed is they hold hands when they walk home, and he brings her flowers and books, and when he brings her home, he kisses her cheek.  
  
Nino can recognize love when she sees it between others, but she’s never thought very much about being part of it. It’s foreign, now that she’s faced with it— now that there’s someone right in front of her who looks at her with warmth and happiness in his eyes. It’s the kind of thing that she’s always attributed to others, to girls raised by and cared for the family they were born into, who can love without a second thought and whose thoughts of the future have never stopped at the assumption of an early death. It’s unfamiliar, but she supposes she should get used to it.  
  
Zephiel’s first term at university starts in the fall, but just before then is Nino’s birthday. Jan closes the shop for the occasion ( _it’s not every day you turn sixteen_ , he says) and spends the better part of the day fussing over a lemon poppyseed cake that turns out decidedly “not that bad,” but the sentiment behind it is enough that Nino nearly starts crying then and there. And then she really does start crying when Legault and Jaffar show up for the occasion (Legault swears it was just because they were in the neighborhood, which nobody believes for a second), and again when Zephiel shows up with a birthday gift of a pretty silver bracelet with purple stones nicer than anything Nino has ever owned, because it seems she’ll never completely shake that habit. But they’re good tears, so she’ll count that as a blessing.  
  
School begins soon after, and so end the late nights Nino spends with Zeph. They become afternoons on the university grounds and listening to Zeph talk while she thumbs through his textbooks. She very quickly learns the subject material better than Zeph has, so she helps him study. Days move by with a sweet slowness like honey down the side of the jar, and all the while the days grow shorter and cooler as autumn settles over Bern like a layer of morning mist.  
  
Nino knows well in advance when Guinevere’s seventh birthday approaches, mostly because it’s all she talks about as soon as autumn begins. Guinevere invites Nino to her birthday party long before Zephiel does, but Zeph’s invitation is the one that gives any actual information. Nino hesitates— she’s not exactly familiar with how to act at noble parties— but Zeph has the earnest kind of face that’s impossible to say no to, so Nino accepts the invitation to be his date for the evening. She goes nearly the whole rest of the afternoon and evening before it hits her what she’s agreed to.  
  
XL.  
  
The first order of business is looking the part. Nino would think that’d be the easiest part, but of course, nothing is ever as easy as you assume it to be.  
  
Which is how Nino ends up spending most of a day trying on every dress her size that Legault can find in the racks of secondhand clothing in Jan’s shop. He eliminates about half of them because they’re too formal or informal, another half of that because their style is either too childish or too mature, a few more for being inappropriate for the season, and so on and so forth until they’re down to two candidates and Nino is getting very tired of buttons.  
  
“No, no, Jaffar, you’re not getting this,” Legault says. “The violet matches with the bracelet. If she’s going to make a good impression, then she has to properly accessorize.”  
  
Jaffar rolls his eyes. “Who cares?”  
  
Legault recoils like he’s been slapped. “Jaffar!” he gasps, aghast. “I raised you better than this! In noble circles, appearance is everything!”  
  
“You can’t even _hide_ anything in that one,” Jaffar says. “So what’s the point?”  
  
“I quite liked the orange,” Jan contributes meekly.  
  
Legault rubs the bridge of his nose. “Gods, old man, you don’t know _anything_ ,” he says. “It’s _absolutely_ the wrong shade of orange. It’s too reddish. She’d look like a carrot.”  
  
“I like carrots,” Hugh chimes in. He has Nino’s battered purple cloak around his shoulders, and it’s big enough on him that it trails on the ground even when he grips the edges and flaps his arms like he’s pretending to fly.  
  
“Yeah, well, you don’t want to look like one, little man,” Legault replies, mussing Hugh’s hair. “Not when you’re courting the Prince of Bern.”  
  
Nino fidgets with the fabric of the blue gown. It has elbow-length sleeves, flowers and vines embroidered in red and green as accents in the silk, and it’s longer than she’s used to but still not full-length, and she feels a little like she’s pretending to be something she’s not. The mirror only seems to agitate her worries, bringing into contrast every hair out of place and every ugly burn scar that has no right to mar the face of a prince’s suitor.  
  
She sighs. “Uncle Legault, I’m already wearing this one. Can’t we just go with it and leave it at that?”  
  
“Alright, I concede that it _does_ match your eyes quite nicely,” Legault admits. “But the _coordination_ —“  
  
“This’ll fit in the sleeve,” Jaffar says, handing her a short, slender knife. “In case he gets too handsy.”  
  
Nino seriously doubts Zeph of all people would do that, but she takes the knife anyway. “Sure, alright. Because I might need to try to kill him again.”  
  
Jaffar shrugs. “You never know.”  
  
“Does he know about that?” Jan asks. “Just out of curiosity.”  
  
Nino snorts. “Absolutely not. And as far as I’m concerned, he never will."  
  
Hugh tugs on Jaffar’s shirt hem. “I wanna knife,” he says. “Do I get one, too?”  
  
“Absolutely not,” Nino says, very firmly, before Jaffar can tell him otherwise. “Knives are sharp, Hugh. You could get hurt.”  
  
Hugh pouts. “Please?”  
  
“No,” Nino repeats. “Jaffar, _please_ don’t give him a knife.”  
  
“I don’t see the harm,” Jaffar shrugs. “I started learning when I was about his age.”  
  
“First of all, that’s horrifying, and I was raised by Sonia, so that’s saying a lot,” Nino says. “Second, I’m not raising an assassin. No knives.”  
  
Jaffar holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine. No knives.”  
  
Nino looks back to Legault. He has his hand on his chin in thought and a tape measure around his neck like a tailor, even though Nino has no idea where he learned any of this.  
  
“I _do_ kind of like this one better,” she says. “Come on, Uncle.”  
  
She can see Legault cave before he even says anything. “Oh, alright,” he sighs. “Blue it is. I _suppose_ I can find something to tie it all together.”  
  
The corners of Jaffar’s mouth tick upwards in his rendition of a smug grin. “Nice choice.”  
  
“I just want to be done so I can stop standing here,” Nino mumbles to him. “Hey, show me where to put the knife?”  
  
XLI.  
  
Truthfully, Nino hadn’t really had any expectations for what the party would be like. She had very little experience with the idea of birthday parties in general, much less birthday parties for seven-year-olds. When Nino was that age, she hadn’t even known for certain when her birthday was, and she was lucky if anyone was home long enough to remember that it was about that time of year. She supposes that a birthday party for a princess would involve some celebratory event, but beyond that, she can’t even guess. She enters on Zephiel’s arm with a pretty blue dress and her hair done with a braid and little silver clips shaped like roses that Legault found in a box of nails in Jan’s shop, and she’s immediately surrounded by more finery than she’s ever seen in her life. Nino already wants to go home.  
  
Oh, and the last time she was in Bern Castle was when she was ordered to kill Zephiel. Suffice to say, it’s strange to think about now, given that he’s her boyfriend and all, and usually you don’t kill boyfriends.  
  
Zephiel’s buttoned up stiff and straight-laced in his formalwear, which looks like it’s supposed to be a Bern army dress uniform with its dark purple velvet and shiny gold buttons and trim, but it’s sized down to fit the frame of a gangly teenage boy that has yet to fill out or grow into the size of his ears. There’s a gold circlet nestled in his hair that marks him as the prince. He’s not _really_ a prince anymore, he’s explained, because his crowning ceremony’s already passed, but his father is still reigning king until he’s finished with school. It strikes Nino as one of those details that only matters in a specific context.  
  
“So, no matter what,” Zeph says to her, when they’re standing in one of the corners of the ballroom apart from the rest of the party like young people their age do. “My parents _cannot_ know that you have a child. Or work for a living. Or didn’t attend school. Or don’t have parents.”  
  
Nino raises an eyebrow. “So, I’m your arm candy?”  
  
Zeph sputters. “I— wh— that’s not— I would _never_ —“  
  
Nino laughs. “I’m just teasing, Zeph. Don’t worry about me, yeah? I like to think I’m a pretty good liar.”  
  
“It’d be easier if you had a noble surname,” Zeph admits.  
  
A thought occurs to Nino in the form of her locket tucked under her collar. “Actually,” she says. “I’ve got that handled, too.”  
  
Guinevere tugs on Zeph’s sleeve before he can ask Nino what that means. “Zeph, we’re starting the tea party,” she says. “Can you tell mommy and daddy? I tried to tell ‘em myself but they were busy talking about boring grownup things. Hi, miss Nino!”  
  
Nino smiles at Guinevere. “Hi, Guin,” she says. “Happy birthday!”  
  
Guinevere preens. “Thanks! I’m seven today!”  
  
“Oh, wow!” Nino says, very convincingly pretending to be impressed. She glances back to Zephiel. He smiles, tugs at his buttoned collar, and gestures with his head to his parents— the king and queen of Bern. Nino hopes against hope that Zeph isn’t asking her to meet them, his parents, who are, as Nino knows, The King And Queen Of Bern. Isn’t meeting the parents a kind of thing done after the six-month mark?  
  
“I’ll tell them, Guinevere,” Zephiel promises. “You should go have fun with your friends. They’ve probably got presents.”  
  
Guinevere visibly brightens at that. “Okay! I’ll save you some cookies!” And then she trots off to a group of five or so seven-year-old girls in frilly dresses, leaving Nino with Zeph. Which Nino appreciates, but she’s a little apprehensive of what’s coming.  
  
“My parents have wanted to meet you,” he says, confirming Nino’s fears. Her hesitation must show on her face, because Zeph continues, “It’s not going to be super formal or anything. Um, at least not more than it already is. You don’t have to follow some noble script or anything. And I know they seem _kind_ of intimidating… and what I’ve told you about my father is less than flattering… but just, um.” He falters. “Go with it?”  
  
“Oh, sure, no problem,” Nino agrees. “But Zeph, I’m not— I’ve never— royalty and I have never gotten along well.” To say the least.  
  
Zeph rubs the back of his neck. “Well, just be charming,” he says. “That won’t be a problem for you. Since you are.” He coughs, and grins sheepishly. “That sounded better in my head.”  
  
Nino rolls her eyes and squeezes his hand. “I’ll do my best,” she says.  
  
King Desmond and Queen Hellene, perhaps by design, glow like golden gemstones amidst the rest of the pretty-but just-a-little-less-so party-goers. Perhaps it’s what Zephiel has told her, but the glittering feels like a façade for the bitterness beneath. King Desmond glowers with his eyes despite politely smiling with his mouth, and Queen Hellene, by contrast, feels far too friendly, too bright, too saccharine for it to be the truth. When she stands before them, even next to Zephiel, she feels as if they’re scouring for any weaknesses, searching for an opening they can use to tear her apart, if only to spite each other. Nino’s never felt particularly self-conscious about her burn scars, considering she’s had them as long as she can remember, and her magic scars are just a part of being a mage. But it seems that the king and queen of Bern are very, very good at drawing out one’s insecurities without saying a word.  
  
“Mother, Father,” Zephiel says. “I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend. I believe I’ve told you about her?”  
  
“Ah, yes,” Queen Hellene recalls. “Miss…”  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Nino sees Zephiel’s smile falter. She squeezes his hand.  
  
“Eponine Morgenstern,” Nino says, sounding more confident than she feels. She curtsies respectfully, because Legault taught her to, to Zephiel’s parents. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, your Majesties.”  
  
The tension in Zeph’s shoulders visibly eases. “Yes, of course, Eponine,” he agrees, convincingly acting like he’s always called her that.  
  
King Desmond narrows his eyes. “I don’t recognize that name,” he says. “Zephiel, _surely_ you’re not presenting a _common_ girl as your suitor.”  
  
“Oh, the noble houses grow and fall so quickly lately,” Queen Hellene says dismissively, unexpectedly saving Nino’s hide. “She looks like a nice girl, Desmond. Besides, dear Zephiel knows to choose a girl who’s _worthy_ of his affections.”  
  
“Of course, Mother,” Zephiel agrees. “I assure you, N— _Eponine_ is more than worthy.” His ears flush. “In fact, I would say it is I who is unworthy of her affections.”  
  
That’s one of the sweetest things she’s ever heard. Her cheeks flush, and she tries in vain not to smile too widely— though perhaps that works to her advantage.  
  
Queen Hellene chuckles, though to Nino, she can see the insincerity a mile away. “Oh, Zephiel, how sweet! To be young and in love— those were the days.”  
  
King Desmond coughs and Queen Hellene’s smile quickly twists. She very pointedly ignores him. The air feels incredibly awkward. Nino may not be too well-versed in how people do romance, but even she can see that Queen Hellene and King Desmond do not get along. She silently thanks Sonia for modeling for her what a marriage built on lies looks like, if only to give her the knowledge that this is not what relationships ought to be.  
  
Zephiel saves it. “Ah, my poor manners,” he says. “I haven’t gotten us drinks. Excuse me for a moment.” He bows out, despite Nino mentally begging him not to leave her alone with these two old people who remind her far too much of her parents, except without Brendan Reed’s good character in every other aspect of his life. Chivalry is dead.  
  
Nino awkwardly folds her hands in front of her, hoping beyond hope that they’ll lose interest soon enough. It’s a very small consolation that the king and queen don’t seem to know what to say either.  
  
“You know, Zephiel was _very_ excited to introduce you to the family, Eponine,” Queen Hellene says, all lipstick and teeth without a real smile to connect them. She reaches down and takes Nino’s hands in hers, which is theoretically friendly. Nino feels somewhat like a rabbit in a trap facing down the fox in place of the hunter.  
  
“I,” Nino says.  
  
“And you know, I’m positively _thrilled_ ,” the queen continues. “When my son takes the throne, it’ll be wonderful for Bern to have a queen that he _appreciates_.”  
  
“You know, Hellene, I agree,” Desmond says, very pointedly placing a hand on Nino’s shoulder. Nino tries very, very hard not to flinch. “What Bern needs is a queen that’s well-mannered and patient. I must admit that _your_ son has done quite a fine job in choosing a good sort of girl to court.”  
  
At the word ‘good,’ Desmond’s hand comes to rest on the top of her head, like how one pets a cat. Nino’s first instinct, embedded from years of Lloyd and Linus trying to teach her hand-to-hand combat, is to elbow him in the ribs and then aim for the crotch, and it’s other, deeper-embedded instincts that keep her frozen still. Queen Hellene lets go of Nino’s hands and folds her arms instead, looking icily at Desmond.  
  
“Yes, this is a _fine_ example of what marks a good future queen,” Desmond continues. “Innocent. Quiet. Patient. Obedient. That sort of thing.” His hand makes contact with her hair with every word as if punctuating his point. Nino folds her hands back together again and clenches one hand around her thumb very tightly. She wonders momentarily if dating Zephiel is worth having to deal with his parents.  
  
“Oh, yes, and I suppose you’d like that, Desmond,” Hellene says. “You always _did_ love a woman you could charm.” She said _charm_ and absolutely meant _manipulate_.  
  
“No need to get passive-aggressive with me, Hellene,” Desmond replies passive-aggressively, his hand still on Nino’s head. “Wouldn’t you agree, though? A good queen knows her manners. And she is not _willful_ , or _stubborn_ , or _treasonous_ —“  
  
“Why, _treason_ , Desmond?” Hellene mock-gasps. “Why on Gróa's green earth would you think that of me? I’m hurt.”  
  
“Oh, truly?” Desmond remarks. “I had wondered if that was even possible. You would need a soul to feel hurt, you see.”  
  
“And I suppose you would need a soul to feel betrayed as well, and yet here you are,” Hellene replies.  
  
Desmond’s hand stiffens. Nino, petrified, has been looking at the decorative carvings at the base of the pillars along the wall. She can only imagine the glares between the two of them. Nino _really_ wants to go home. She would gladly allow Hugh to bang on all of Jan’s pots and pans and listen to it for hours if it meant she never again had to set foot in Bern Castle for as long as she lived.  
  
Her savior arrives in the form of Zephiel with a pair of crystal wine glasses. He falters midway through handing Nino one of them, never mind the fact that she’s sixteen and probably shouldn’t drink. “Did I miss something?”  
  
Nino looks at him. She says nothing, but thinks _please save me_.  
  
Zeph coughs. “You know what,” he decides. “I think we owe Guinevere attendance at her tea party. I did promise, after all.”  
  
“Hm?” Queen Hellene looks over, and plasters a false smile onto her face. “Oh, of _course_ , dear! You’re such a good elder brother.”  
  
“Guinevere would hate to be disappointed,” Desmond adds. He steps away, tucking his hands behind his back.  
  
“Thank you, father,” Zephiel says, bowing his head slightly and taking Nino’s arm. “Come along, _Eponine_.”  
  
Nino feels a weight lift from her chest as Zephiel slips his hand into hers and leads her out of the ballroom. When they’re a safe distance away, he leans against a pillar and sighs, rubbing his temple with his free hand. Nino’s heartbeat refuses to settle down. Her friend Rebecca, back during the war, once told her that obedience is overrated. Nino wishes she had a fraction of that kind of strength.  
  
“I’m sorry about that,” Zeph sighs. Nino tries not to flinch, fails, and immediately feels awful about it. Zeph didn’t do anything. It’s not his fault she’s jumpy.  
  
“It’s fine,” Nino says, very tersely, not realizing until that moment how tight her jaw was clenched.  
  
“It most certainly is not,” Zeph replies. He frowns, ducking his head so he can look Nino in the face. “Are you alright, Nino? You look pale.”  
  
Nino makes herself smile. “Don’t worry about it, Zeph,” she promises. She remembers the wine glass in her hand and knocks back the whole thing in one terrible, sour swig, which she regrets immensely. But at the very least, it helps her shake off the tension brought about from dealing with Zephiel’s parents.  
  
Zeph blinks. He notices the glass of wine in his other hand and sets it on top of the tray of a statue of a butler. Nino’s joins it.  
  
“Do you…” Zeph mumbles. “Um… want to meet my pet falcon? Or see my rock collection or something?”  
  
There’s something cute in how nervous he is. Nino laughs, if only so she doesn’t cry instead. “Sure, Zeph, I’ll look at your rocks.”  
  
“ _Please_ don’t say it like that.”  
  
“Bold of you to assume that’ll stop me.”  
  
  
XLII.  
  
They walk through the garden. The afternoon sunlight is slowly turning orange, casting blue shadows in stark relief where the light doesn’t reach. They don’t go directly to Zeph’s rock collection, which Nino doesn’t mind, and instead they wander around past the rosebushes and the peonies and the tulips.  
  
“So,” Zeph says. “Eponine Morgenstern. Where’d you come up with that?”  
  
“Didn’t have to,” Nino replies. “It’s my actual name.”  
  
Zeph looks at her skeptically. “You’re messing with me.”  
  
She chuckles. “It’s cute that you’re trying to guess when I’m teasing you, but I’m being sincere. That really is my name.” Nino hadn’t known it until she was fourteen, but it’s her name nonetheless. She takes her locket out from under her dress, untwines it from around her neck, and pops the tiny clasp open for Zeph to take a look.  
  
“See, there,” she says. “There’s my parents, and me, and my twin brother Kai.” The names are written in tiny script on the other half of the pendant opposite the tiny picture. The figures’ features are indiscernible with the picture that small, but with hair that green, it’s unlikely it’s anyone but Nino.  
  
Zeph takes the locket to look at it a little more closely. Nino’s neck feels empty without the locket’s familiar weight.  
  
“You were cute as a baby,” he says. “Seems nothing’s changed.”  
  
“Are you saying I’m baby-cute now?” Nino teases.  
  
Zeph’s ears turn red. “No, that’s— I wouldn’t— Nino!”  
  
Nino laughs and bumps her elbow against Zeph’s. “Come on, you were wide open.”  
  
“Suppose that’s what I get for trying to compliment my girlfriend,” Zeph says, rolling his eyes. “Will there ever be a time you’ll stop teasing me?”  
  
“Oh, come on,” Nino says gently, taking his hand. “I will never, _ever_ make things easy for you, Zephiel. Get used to it.”  
  
Zeph sighs. “Alright, fair enough, I suppose.”  
  
Nino takes her necklace back and puts it back around her neck, tucking it under her collar once more. She also notices that Jaffar somehow snuck a tiny stiletto dagger in the lining resting on her breastbone, possibly in the process of when Legault was altering the dress to fit Nino better, but how he did that is anyone’s guess.  
  
Zeph glances back towards the ballroom. Music has started to play, entertainment for the adults while their daughters play with Guinevere. “My parents are probably busy with other guests,” he says. “We could go back in if you want to get snacks.”  
  
Nino’s ears perk up. “I never say no to free food,” she says. “You might have to tell me what things are. I haven’t read many books on hors d’ouvres.”  
  
As it turns out, there are oysters, snails, many different kinds of crackers, many different kinds of cheese, various kinds of spreads and toppings, and approximately six million olives. Nino has no idea how to Properly eat any of it and so she doesn’t take any, but she does pick up another glass of wine on impulse.  
  
“Are you sure you should be drinking that?” Zeph asks, frowning. “You already had one.”  
  
“Maybe it’ll taste better the second time around,” Nino shrugs. “What’s the grey stuff here?”  
  
“Chicken liver pâté,” Zeph says. “It’s disgusting. Also, you look a little flushed.”  
  
Nino pats Zeph’s cheek. “It’s cute that you’re worried about me,” she says. “But come on. I fought in a war beside Lord Eliwood himself. I think I can handle two glasses of wine.”

XLIII.  
  
Nino cannot, in fact, handle two glasses of wine.  
  
It’s really not a surprise that it didn’t take much to get her tipsy— she’s a hundred pounds, tops, and the fact that she’s sixteen probably also has something to do with it, and drinking her first glass all at once absolutely didn’t help matters. So when she finishes her second wineglass and starts to lose her balance on the way back to the snack table and everything is very, very funny, Zeph catches her before she can pick up another glass.  
  
“I think you’ve had enough,” he says.  
  
“Oh, come on,” Nino protests. “I can handle three glasses of wine! I fought beside—“  
  
“Lord Eliwood himself, I know,” Zeph interrupts.  
  
Nino giggles. “That’s the bitch! You knew what I was gonna say before I said it!”  
  
Zeph coughs. “I sure did. Um—“  
  
“You’re cute when you’re all thinking and stuff,” Nino giggles, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Hey, come down here and lemme kiss you. You haven’t done that all night so _clearly_ I have to do all the work around here.”  
  
Zeph coughs, craning his neck away. “I can’t, it’s not proper,” he says. “You’re drunk.”  
  
“May-be,” Nino hums. “Too good to kiss a girl when she’s drunk, rich boy?”  
  
“Nino, please,” Zeph says. “Maybe it’s time you went home.”  
  
Nino frowns. “No, no, it’ll— my uncle will prolly stab you n’ think you got me drunk for, you know. _Ungentlemanly_ reasons. He’s got knives. I’ve got knives, actually, right here—“ she’s about to pull her collar down to show him the knife in the lining, but stupid Zephiel pulls her hand away before she can try and takes her arm.  
  
“Oh, well, that’s fascinating, but why don’t you show me some other time,” Zeph says, gently starting to lead her out of the ballroom. The floor seems to warp under Nino’s feet as she walks with Zeph, holding on to him to keep her balance. This is also very amusing, but she hides her giggles in her hand.  
  
The sun’s nearly down, the afternoon replaced with a chilly autumn night. Stars are starting to poke their heads out from the cover of dusk, and on another day, when Nino is not drunk, she would stop to admire them. This is not that day.  
  
“Come on, upstairs,” Zeph says, stopping in front of a stairwell. “Can you manage that?”  
  
“Prolly,” Nino says. “Hey, why? You don’t got _plans_ , do you?”  
  
Zephiel turns red right to his hairline. “I-I would never! But you need somewhere quiet to lie down and wait until you’re less drunk so I can walk you back home.”  
  
“Mm, hmm, figured so,” Nino says. “But isn’t there that— people might _say_ things. People are always saying things. Why does everyone say so much?”  
  
Zeph hesitates. “Well, it’s true, this is only our third date, technically,” he says. “And we’re unmarried and also not of age, so any… _whisperings_ … would be damaging, yes… I wouldn’t want my parents to think ill of you, and all.”  
  
“S’a good thing I don’t give a shit what your parents say!” Nino giggles. “C’mon, then, I wanna stick it to your dad. He was creepy.”  
  
Zeph frowns. “How so?”  
  
“Back earlier, when you went n’ got the first glasses of wine,” Nino says as they work their way up the stairs. “Kept talkin’ about obedience n’ saying I was a good example. He pat my head. Weird.”  
  
“That’s… kind of creepy, yes,” Zeph admits. “I’m sorry about that.”  
  
“Lucky for him, I didn’t smack him like my brothers taught me to,” Nino boasts. “I could take down a guy his size, easy.” She pauses. “I mean, only one, an’ I’d have to stop to breathe after ‘cause I’m bad at breathing, but it’s the _principle_ of the thing.”  
  
“You have brothers?” Zeph asks, holding open the door to his bedchambers. “You’ve never mentioned them.”  
  
Nino sits down on the side of the bed when Zeph guides her to it. She idly fidgets with the bracelet around her wrist. “I don’t like talking about it,” she admits. “Lucky I’m drunk or you wouldn’t be hearing it. But, uh, they died, and I miss ‘em a lot.”  
  
“I… can only imagine,” Zeph says quietly. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Aw, don’t be,” Nino insists, nudging him. “You’re cute when you’re sorry, though. Your eyes get all big an’ sad like a puppy.”  
  
She leans her head on his shoulder. Zeph blushes and scratches at his cheek.  
  
“I had never thought about that,” he admits. “Um, right. Nino, you should rest.” He stands up quite abruptly, and Nino falls face-first onto the quilt with a soft puff. She wriggles until it’s more comfortable, and wiggles around to look at Zeph.  
  
“That was rude,” she humphs. “You’re comfy.”  
  
“I can’t imagine I’m as comfortable as an actual pillow,” Zeph replies.  
  
“Ohh.” Nino giggles. “Yeah, true.”  
  
Zeph sits on the other side of the bed. Nino toes her shoes off and lets them thud onto the carpet, and rolls over so she’s facing him. The silk of her dress crumples and folds. “What’re you gonna do?”  
  
He shrugs. “The party’s over, probably,” he says. “I’ll say goodnight to Guinevere and then… well, usually after she goes to bed, I read until I feel tired. If I feel daring, I’ll have a glass of milk.”  
  
Nino giggles. “Ooh, I _love_ the bad boys,” she teases.  
  
Zeph rolls his eyes, but he grins a little. “I try.”  
  
Nino shifts, pushing her face into the flannel pillowcase. In romance novels, the male love interests’ pillows always smell like some mix of things like vanilla and wood smoke and byronic despair. Zeph’s smell like closets.  
  
“Tonight was real nice,” Nino mumbles. “I had fun, even if your parents creeped me out.”  
  
“I’m glad I make up for it,” Zeph replies. “ _Eponine Morgenstern_.”  
  
Nino giggles. “Sounds funny when _you_ say it.”  
  
“It’s a big name,” Zeph says. “Too big for someone your size. You need to grow into it.”  
  
She swats at him lazily. “Yeah, yeah, short jokes, I’ve heard ‘em all. I know I’m tiny.”  
  
“I don’t mind,” Zeph says. “It means that if you were too drunk to walk, I could just carry you with no trouble.”  
  
“Do I _have_ to get drunk for that to be an option?” Nino teases.  
  
Zeph flushes and coughs. “Well, if you _wanted_ me to…”  
  
Nino hums. She reaches out her hand and wiggles in the direction of Zeph’s fingers until he holds her hand. It’s nice to have a hand to hold, to be able to reach out and have someone reach back.  
  
“Mm,” Nino hums. “I should go home soon. Don’t want Uncle Jan to worry.”  
  
“Are you feeling up to that long a walk?” Zeph frowns.  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Nino remembers. “Well. Maybe in a few minutes.” What harm could a few minutes be? She closes her eyes and lets sleep drag her under, dark and blessedly dreamless.  
  
XLIV.  
  
It’s more than a few minutes later when Nino wakes up again. Her head aches horribly. She moves her hand up, slowly, to rub at it as if that’ll help, which it doesn’t. The sky is pitch-dark outside, lit by half a moon and a million tiny stars; Bern City itself is lit up with torches and braziers that keep the streets visible at all hours and keeping the night watchmen from having to stumble around in the dark. Next to her, Zephiel dozes. Their fingers are still intertwined.  
  
Zeph sits up and shakes off the daze, noticing Nino moving. “You’re awake again,” he says. “Feeling better?”  
  
“Not really,” Nino says, rubbing her temple. “My head hurts. Drinking was a mistake. Zeph, why did I do that?”  
  
Zeph chuckles, letting go of her hand and standing up. “I’ll get you some water,” he says. “Funny, you _swore_ you could handle two glasses of wine.”  
  
“I only had _two_ glasses?” Nino repeats, dismayed. “That’s all it took? It feels like I drank an entire wine cellar!”  
  
“Seems you’re just lucky,” Zeph says, handing her a glass of water. Nino chugs it. “But I’m glad I stopped you before you drank any more. That would’ve been bad.”  
  
Nino sighs, setting the glass back down on the bedside table. “I can’t _believe_ I got drunk at a seven-year-old’s birthday party. What time is it?”  
  
Zeph glances at the clock. “Only ten,” he says. “What time was your uncle expecting you back?”  
  
Nino shrugs. “I don’t have to work tomorrow, so whenever, I suppose. Everyone’s probably in bed by now anyway.”  
  
“Oh.” Zephiel nods. He scratches the back of his neck and avoids looking at Nino. “Um, then, you can stay longer? I don’t want you to get in trouble, and all.”  
  
Nino raises an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me to spend the night, Zephiel?” she teases. “How forward and so very scandalous.”  
  
Zephiel’s entire face turns red. “Um,” he manages, his voice cracking. “Th-that’s— but we’re not married!”  
  
Nino laughs. “Just teasing, don’t worry. I’ll just go home. Will I see you tomorrow?”  
  
“I mean— um,” Zeph stammers. He coughs. “Yes, yes, of course, if you want to, um—  
  
Nino puts a hand on his cheek. Zeph shuts up. “You talk too much,” she says. “But don’t worry, I like you anyway. Walk me home?”  
  
Zephiel coughs. But he smiles, as awkward and goofy as ever, and nods. “It’d be my pleasure.”  
  
XLV.  
  
Zephiel walks her around to the back entrance. Nobody’s out this late, and there’s a chill in the air characteristic of autumn nights, even in Bern. The fires in the street lamps flicker, imprisoned behind wired glass. It’s dark on the back street, but Jan keeps a lantern lit on the back porch, so Zeph’s face is half-lit in orange and yellow. Nino knows she should go inside, but she doesn’t want to let go of Zeph’s hand.  
  
“Thanks for inviting me to Guinevere’s party,” Nino says. “It was fun, even with the whole…” she pauses. “Well, it was fun.”  
  
Zeph grins abashedly. “I know my parents can be a bit… much,” he says. “But I did speak to my mother, and she already likes you quite a bit. I haven’t asked my father, but I also don’t particularly care what he thinks.”  
  
Nino laughs and squeezes his hand. “Good for you, finally rebelling a little!” she says. “Goodnight, Zeph. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”  
  
Zeph coughs. “Oh, yes,” he says. “At the library?”  
  
“Of course,” Nino promises.  
  
For a second, they linger there, knowing what would ideally come next and yet somehow too shy to actually do it. Such is how new relationships often go— and doubly so for first-time relationships. For all Nino likes to tease Zephiel about his sticking to Rich People Customs, she does understand the hesitance. Nino’s still pretty new to this whole “romance” thing, though that’s entirely fair, considering the fact that she’s sixteen. And it seems fair to her that she’d take at least some caution, since she doesn’t want to screw it up.  
  
Oh yeah, and she was kind of assigned to kill him that one time. There is also that.  
  
“Can I have a kiss before you go, at least?” Nino asks. “Don’t leave me hanging here.”  
  
Zephiel leans down and kisses her. He’s gotten better at it, but there are still probably too many teeth. Nino’s chest flutters. It’s nice, she thinks, to be liked. Maybe even loved.  
  
So that’s goodnight, and Nino waves to him from the top of the stairs. He waits to walk away until she’s inside, the door shut tight. It seems to be empty and dark. She hangs her coat on a hook and toes off her shoes, carefully avoiding the squeaky floorboards. She doesn’t want to wake Jan up, after all.  
  
She has to ditch the dress first, before even trying to climb that ladder. It takes a little doing, but she manages to wriggle out of it, and the stockings, and leaves them both draped over the back of the couch. That’s better— she can climb in a petticoat better than she could in a real dress. It takes a little more doing to fumble the clips out of her hair, and she’s halfway into trying to when she hears the telltale hiss of a lit lamp. She rolls her eyes.  
  
“You were just _waiting_ to do that, weren’t you?” she sighs, turning around to see Legault in an armchair with Charles on his lap. Charles _mrrp_ s at Nino, jumps off, and bonks his head against her shin. He rubs against it immediately after, as if deciding that Nino has been sufficiently lectured and he can now resume affection.  
  
“Do you have any idea what time it is, young lady?” Legault asks, steepling his fingers.  
  
“Yes,” Nino replies, reaching down to rub behind Charles' ears. “It’s only a little after ten, Uncle, it’s _fine_. And I don’t have to work tomorrow, so…”  
  
Legault chuckles, stands up, and starts taking the clips out of her hair. “I’m just messing with you, peapod. Did you have a good time?”  
  
“I did, despite… everything,” Nino admits. “I would’ve come home sooner, but I fell asleep in Zeph’s room.”  
  
“Oh _did_ you?” Legault says, arching an eyebrow. “In Prince Zephiel’s bedroom?”  
  
Nino groans. “Not like _that_ , Uncle, don’t be gross,” she says. “He just let me nap there because I… kind of got drunk, a little bit.”  
  
“Sounds like you had quite a night, then,” Legault says. “You got drunk?”  
  
“I had two glasses of wine and apparently that’s enough to do it,” Nino sighs. “Speaking of, my head still kind of hurts, so I should _probably_ go to bed and sleep it off…”  
  
“Yeah, you go on to bed,” Legault concedes, finishing with the clips. “Hey, before you do, though. Spend some time with the little guy tomorrow, yeah? He missed you.”  
  
Nino undoes the braid and shakes out her hair, relieved to have that taken care of, and then feels a pang in her chest when Legault speaks. “Hugh did?”  
  
“Well, yeah, of course,” Legault says, like it’s obvious. Then something occurs to him, and he looks back at Nino. “You know you’re his whole world, right? The kid loves you.”  
  
Nino chews on the inside of her cheek. “Well, he’s my cousin,” she says.  
  
“Yeah, sure, by _blood_ ,” Legault replies. “But you and I both know that family isn’t just blood, peapod. Doesn’t matter what blood says if you fill some other role. So maybe he’s your cousin by birth, but that sure ain’t the way he sees it.”  
  
Nino’s quiet. She knows what Legault means, but it’s hard to wrap her brain around it. It’s enough to give her vertigo, going from being just like any other sixteen-year-old girl with a boyfriend to having to think about Real Things like raising an actual child. But Legault is right, and really, she was stupid to think that things could always be simple and that she’d always have someone else to rely on. It gives her a headache— or maybe that’s the wine.  
  
Legault musses her hair again. “Get some rest, kid,” he says. “You should sleep off the rest of that wine. Though lemme tell you— wait until you get your first _real_ hangover. Then you’ll _really_ regret drinking.”  
  
Nino half-smiles. “Can’t wait, with how you’re selling it,” she says. “Goodnight, Uncle.”  
  
She knows Jaffar isn’t asleep, because Jaffar’s a light sleeper and probably woke up when she opened the front door. But he doesn’t turn or try to talk to her, presumably because he doesn’t want to wake Hugh up. Hugh actually is asleep, curled up on his pallet with his stuffed pegasus squished up against his cheek. Nino sits down on her side of the bedding and pushes his hair out of his face.  
  
Really, Legault is right. Just like there came some moment when Nino realized that she’d stopped expecting to die young, so too there had been some moment where, unconsciously, she accepted the responsibility she’d taken the moment she left Niime’s house with Hugh in tow. Perhaps that was why she was only realizing the weight of that responsibility now, when she’s had a taste of what it’s like to set it aside.  
  
Well, it’s not like she can go back on it now. She just has to adapt— that’s how she survived this long. She will adapt, and think about the light at the end of the tunnel and its daffodils swaying in the breeze.


	11. XLVI-LIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I know I can do all that my heart wants to, like ending this race, but I just can't seem to._

XLVI.   
  
Time passes, as time does.  
  
Autumn is in full swing, and Legault and Jaffar hit the road again to avoid having to travel through Bern’s mountains in the winter, but if Nino knows them, they won’t be away for long. With the autumn comes the autumn holidays. Bern’s not nearly as religious as, say, Etruria, but that’s not going to stop them from observing holidays dedicated to Elibe’s gods, just because people love an excuse to throw a party and get drunk. Bern’s Harvest Festival is in the beginning of the season, set among golden leaves and gusts of wind that flirt with winter chill but don’t really mean it. Weeks pass, and then comes the autumn sports festival, which is different from the _summer_ sports festival because the former is about fun and races and music while the latter is about fighting and demonstrations of strength. Similar festivals for different gods, not that anyone outside the church really cares much about praying to those particular gods on those particular days.   
  
The sports festival is Jan’s favorite because he can close the shop for the day and watch the races from the rooftop. Their neighborhood’s in the perfect spot to see the action without having to deal with the crowds in the streets. Most of the neighbors have the same idea, so as far as Jan is concerned, another part of the holiday is sharing gossip. Hugh’s mostly excited about seeing the horses run very fast, and he asks Nino when they’ll start flying. He’s very disappointed when Nino tells him that not all horses can fly.  
  
The world spins on, and it’s nice, not having to worry about anything bigger than teaching Hugh shapes and helping Zephiel study for his exams. That’s certainly not saying that her days are boring. Maybe it’s the fact that she was removed from it for so long, but Nino finds a kind of enjoyment in civilian life and the moments that compose it, and not just on the holidays that she never really got to celebrate before. Small talk with Jan’s neighbors when their paths cross. Shopping lists scrawled on extra parchment. Picture books with Hugh in the evenings. Moments with Zeph that feel secret and exciting only because displays of affection aren’t allowed in the library. Little things, familiar things that are mundane and routine to people who haven’t lived any other way.  
  
The autumn sky is clear and blue. Bells from a nearby church echo through the square, painting a backdrop behind hooves on cobblestone and the low din of chatter in the marketplace, and the occasional rustling of leaves caught in breezes chasing each other down the city streets. Every now and again Nino hears the sound of a flock of birds taking off in a flurry somewhere behind her, and knows that it’s Hugh chasing pigeons. As long as she keeps hearing the childish laughter after every flurry of pigeon wings, she knows he hasn’t left her sight.   
  
Hugh may be closer to four than he is to three at this point, but he gets bored chasing after pigeon flocks once they figure out to stay on the other side of the square. He walks back over to Nino and tugs on her cloak.   
  
“We done soon?” he asks.   
  
“Almost,” Nino promises. “Just a little longer.”  
  
“A hour?” Hugh asks.   
  
“Less than that.”  
  
Well, that’s less helpful than Hugh would’ve liked. He curls his little fist in Nino’s cape, looking around the area for something interesting. There’s the fountain, but it’s too cold to be any fun. There’s a candy store past the square across the street, but he’s not allowed to cross the street alone. There’s a group of kids kicking a ball around, but bigger kids aren’t always nice when someone his age asks to play. So, altogether, Hugh figures that they’re going to be here forever and he’s going to die of boredom.   
  
His ears perk up when he hears music— flute music, light and cheery, and probably not far away. This demands investigation.   
  
He follows the sound to just a little past the fountain. There’s a flutist sitting on the rim with a small crowd, mostly children, but there are a few adults. The flutist himself doesn’t look that old, either, but Hugh can’t say a specific age range.  
  
What’s more important than the flutist, though, is the music. It weaves itself into the chilly breeze, the notes bouncing and chasing each other without a care in the world, and even though there’s only one instrument, the composition makes it feel like there’s a whole band behind the boy with the flute. The rhythm bounces, the high notes sore, the melody dances with itself. Hugh bobs up and down in time, or at least as close as he can manage, clapping his little hands. He giggles even when the song is over and the rest of the audience claps. He stops bouncing. The flutist stands up and bows, beaming at the crowd. They disperse, mostly, but Hugh stays.   
  
The boy looks at Hugh. “Oh,” he says. “Hi.”  
  
“Hi,” Hugh says. “What’s that?”  
  
The boy glances at the flute in his hand. “It’s a flute,” he says. “You use it to make music. Like what you just heard.”  
  
Hugh nods. “I like music,” he says. “And, and horsies and birds.”  
  
“I like music, too,” the boy says. “You wanna try?”  
  
Hugh’s eyes widen. “I try?”  
  
The boy nods. He sticks his flute into his bag and pulls out something else— another flute, but smaller, simpler, made of reeds and wood. It’s got holes in the top along the length of it, and a part to blow in at the end. He offers it to Hugh. Hugh takes it uncertainly.  
  
“You blow into it there,” the boy says, pointing to one end. “And music happens. Covering up the holes makes them make different sounds.”  
  
Hugh frowns. He takes a big breath and blows into the mouthpiece. The flute lets out an earsplitting screech that startles virtually everyone in the square and scares off birds and stray cats. Hugh’s eyes glitter. He clutches the flute in his hands and giggles excitedly, bouncing from one foot to the other. This is _much_ more fun than banging on Jan’s cookware.  
  
The boy blinks, his hair standing on end. “Right, uh, yeah, like that,” he says. “Maybe… gentler? And maybe do it outside.”  
  
Nino elbows her way through the crowd. “Hugh? Hugh! There you are! I told you not to wander off,” she chides, crouching to Hugh’s level and checking him over in case he’s injured. She looks from the grin on Hugh’s face to the flute in his hand to the minstrel, who looks… _oddly_ familiar.  
  
“Meemo, lookit!” Hugh says, holding up his flute. “Music!”  
  
Nino raises her eyebrows. “I can tell,” she says. She looks to the minstrel. “I’m sorry about him, is he bothering you?” She frowns. “You look familiar, have we met?”  
  
The boy laughs. “I doubt it,” he says. “I’d probably remember that.”  
  
He plays it off, but Nino’s not convinced. She looks a little closer. The boy’s about thirteen, if she had to guess, with light green hair and a bright grin and dimples.   
  
He rubs the back of his neck and looks away. “I may have given your kid the gift of music,” he says. “Uh, sorry about that.”  
  
Nino frowns. “Are you sure we haven’t met? What’s your name?”  
  
“My name? It’s… Noah,” he says. If Nino didn’t know better, she’d think it sounds like he made it up on the spot. “I doubt we’ve met, but maybe you’ve walked by one of my performances in some other city.”  
  
It sounds plausible. “I suppose that makes sense,” she says. She looks back at Hugh’s flute, and at Hugh.  
  
“Can I keep it, Meemo?” he begs. “Pleeeease?”  
  
“Oh, fine,” Nino sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “You play it, you buy it, I guess.” She pulls a few coins from her purse and offers them to Noah.  
  
Noah shakes his head. “No charge,” he says. “Everyone deserves to have a chance to have fun with music, regardless of money.”  
  
Nino hesitates, but puts the coins back. “Alright, if you say so,” she concedes. “But Hugh, absolutely _no_ playing that indoors, okay? It’s an outside toy.”  
  
“Aww,” Hugh whines.   
  
“He looked so happy playing it, though,” Noah says. “It’ll be worth the headache. That’s what my sister said when I was learning, anyway.”  
  
Nino sighs. “I don’t think the neighbors will be quite so understanding. Come on, Hugh, it’s time to go home. Can you say thank you to Noah?”  
  
“Thank you, Noah,” Hugh repeats dutifully.  
  
Noah chuckles, his ears turning pink. “Aw,” he says. “Well, just remember me when you make it big, okay?”  
  
Hugh doesn’t know what that means. “Okay,” he says anyway. “Bye-bye!”  
  
Nino takes his other hand and starts the walk back to Jan’s house. Hugh skips alongside her, his new flute clenched tight in his little hand. 

* * *

  
XLVII.  
  
Jan’s in the basement workshop when Nino gets back, which Nino can tell before she even enters the shop because, through the front window, she can see the tiny ‘ring bell for assistance’ sign on the register desk. She sets one of her baskets on the desk to take upstairs and takes the other down with her. Most of the basement is storage— goods they rotate every season, mostly, but also some donations they’ve gotten that haven’t been put into the system yet. Jan would’ve just stuck a price tag on it and called it a day, but his organizational system only made sense to him, and about two weeks previous, Nino had decided that she’d had it. Now everything has a category, a name, a number, and a price, and she’s catalogued it all into a set of ledgers. As long as Jan sticks to it, it’ll keep everything much more organized.  
  
His workshop is a separate room in the very back. It juts out past the first floor. The ceiling of the basement past that point is a metal grate probably in place so he doesn’t die or go crazy from inhaling too much sawdust and paint fumes. Even so, Nino can’t spend too much time in there without practically coughing up a lung.  
  
“I found everything on the list, Uncle,” she says. “Leather dye, hinges, nails, string, and you wouldn’t _believe_ how long it took me to find decent lacquer, but I tracked it down eventually.”  
  
Uncle Jan looks up from behind an upside-down armchair with half its upholstery pulled off. “Ah,” he says. “Thank you, Nino.”   
  
She sets it down on the worktable. There’s sawdust all over the floor. Nino has half a mind to take a broom and sweep it all up then and there, but that’s a fool’s errand.   
  
“You know,” Nino says. “How in the world are we going to get that thing back upstairs?”  
  
For the first time, Jan seems to realize how big the chair actually is. He purses his lips. “Ah,” he says. “That’s a good question. I suppose I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”  
  
Nino sighs, but didn’t expect anything different. “I’ll get started on lunch,” she says. “Try not to smash any more fingers, alright, Uncle?”  
  
Jan holds up a bandaged thumb. “I’ve learned my lesson,” he promises.   
  
It’s good to hear he’ll be more careful, but Nino’s not going to hold her breath. She goes back upstairs and picks up the basket of food. Hugh’s leaning against the register desk, playing with the tiny holes in his flute. His fingers are too small to cover the distance between some of them, but it’s not as if he’s going to be making much actual music at his age.   
  
She takes Hugh upstairs, where Charles is napping in a sunbeam, as cats do. Hugh wiggles out of his coat and hood and drops them on the floor, and tugs at the laces of his boots until he grabs the right end to untie them. He almost escapes to go play, but Nino reminds him about putting things away, so he picks his things up and hands them over to Nino so she can hang them on the racks.   
  
Nino hums thoughtfully at the basket of fresh food. “What do you think, Hugh?” she asks. “Chicken or ham?”  
  
“Ham!” Hugh decides.   
  
“Ham it is,” Nino agrees, washing her hands and tying an apron on. The morning hours tick by cheerfully, the day moving ever-onwards to lunchtime while Nino rolls out a pie crust on the countertop and cuts up pieces of ham, onion, and cheese to go in it. Jan comes upstairs when it’s in the oven, nowhere near done but starting to give off telltale smells of tasty goodness.   
  
“What a treat,” he says. “I do love a meat pie.”  
  
“I hope I did your recipe justice, Uncle,” Nino says.   
  
Jan pats her shoulder affectionately. “I’m sure you did fine. I have every confidence in you.”  
  
Nino’s ears flush. She grins a little, looking back at her book.  
  
“Uncle Jam, lookit,” Hugh insists, tugging on Jan’s shirt hem and holding up his new flute. “I gotted this!”  
  
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Jan says, appropriately impressed. “Can you make music with it?”  
  
“Uh-huh! A lot!” Hugh says empathetically. “I blowed into here an’ it maked a real big sound!”   
  
“That’s very impressive,” Jan says. Hugh preens.   
  
“Not inside, Hugh, remember?” Nino reminds him. “Only little sounds.”  
  
Hugh sighs. “Okay, Meemo.”  
  
“It’s good to see that he’s taking an interest in music so young,” Jan says, lowering himself onto the sofa. Charles plops down on his lap and seems very content to stay there. “The city is full of performers. Perhaps he’d be interested in going.”  
  
“I think he’s mostly interested in making noise,” Nino replies. “He’s not even four yet, Uncle.”  
  
“Well, it doesn’t hurt to think ahead,” Jan says. “Speaking of…”   
  
Nino looks up and quirks an eyebrow. “What are you thinking about?”  
  
“Well, he turns four in the spring,” Jan begins. “So by next fall, he’ll be old enough to start school.”   
  
He’s right, but it’s odd to think about. The next time fall comes around, it’ll mean they’ve stayed in Bern for over a year. But that was what Nino was aiming for, wasn’t it? It just feels strange that she might’ve already found the place she’d been looking for without even realizing it. Bern City could be where they’d stay. Hugh could go to school and grow up in one place, and make friends and join groups, and Nino could keep fitting herself into the role of a normal girl with a normal boyfriend— as normal as the prince of Bern could get, anyway.  
  
“You know,” Jan continues. “There’s higher education available, too. As I recall, they’ll open applications and entrance exams just after the new year. You’re the right age for it.”  
  
Nino snorts. “I missed my chance for school,” she says. “Besides, I doubt I’m smart enough to pass a test like that. And I bet they’ll look at my records and such, and I don’t _have_ any records or endorsements from important people.” She pauses. “Well, Zeph may vouch for me, but I’m not sure how much it’ll count in the world of academia.  
  
“And besides that,” she adds. “If I went to school, who would take care of the store? You can’t do all of that _alone_ , Uncle. Not at your age.”  
  
Jan humphs. “I’m still quite spry, thank you _very_ much. I’ve got some years left before my senescence.” Jan is in his fifties, so he’s not wrong. His joints do not agree.  
  
“Either way, it’s not an immediate issue, so we can think about it later,” Nino says. “Schooling for Hugh, I mean. I _do_ want him to go— gods know _I_ couldn’t teach him anything like a teacher could— but it’s too early to think about.”  
  
“Why school?” Hugh asks, leaning over the back of the couch with his knees on the cushions.   
  
“So you can learn things,” Jan says. “Like reading and numbers.”  
  
“I know numbers,” Hugh replies. “‘Cause Meemo said I’m one, two, three. See?” He holds up three fingers to Jan.  
  
Jan chuckles. “I stand corrected, then.”  
  
Nino opens up the oven to check on the pie, which still isn’t done. She busies herself with chopping up vegetables to go with it. She knows, theoretically, that if she and Hugh are staying in Bern long-term— which seems more and more likely the more time passes— it’s something they’ll have to think about. It’s less of a decision and more of a fact, at least to Nino, that Hugh’s going to go to school. So perhaps she doesn’t know the first thing about how to properly raise a child, but she’s pretty sure that “don’t be Sonia” is a good place to start, and one of the first things about how Sonia raised her that Nino learned was wrong is that Sonia never cared enough to have someone teach Nino _anything_ , really, but reading and writing is the most obvious. Nino’s memories from that far back are fuzzy, but she knows that neither Brendan nor his sons knew enough to be able to teach her much of anything academically, and that Sonia didn’t care, and no one else in the Black Fang thought it was any of their business, so Nino just never learned. It follows, then, that one of the first things Nino’s going to make sure of is that Hugh goes to school.   
  
It’s probably less about Hugh and more about her, really, and it’s more that she wants there to be no more Ninos in the world. But then, that’s hardly the worst goal to have, isn’t it?

* * *

  
XLVIII.   
  
Autumn comes to a close. Shops start to sell things in jars and barrels, preserves from the autumn harvest, and Nino and Jan spend an entire weekend rotating the inventory, putting the summer goods in the basement until next year and bringing out the winter goods.  It’s the time of the year where it’s chilly in the morning but warm by the afternoon, where it’s pleasant in the sunshine but frigid in the shade. Nino insists on wool socks and a sweater under his coat anyway. And in turn, Jan does the same for her.   
  
Bern’s winters are freezing cold where its summers are hot, which wouldn’t be as big a deal if the winter weather didn’t come whenever it damn well pleased instead of following a predictable pattern like the freezes in Ilia or the river flooding its banks in Etruria. But that’s not going to stop Bern from celebrating the First Snow anyway, whether it actually snows or not.   
  
This year happens to be one of the years where the freeze comes before the calendar says winter begins. Nino doesn’t do too well in the cold, but it’s not going to stop her from going to the festival with Zeph. As if she’d pass up an opportunity to team up with Guinevere and pelt him with snowballs. She tries to convince Hugh to come play with them, but Hugh doesn’t like the snow and refuses to go out in it. It doesn’t take a genius to figure why.  
  
The winter solsitce is after First Frost, on the shortest and coldest day of the year. Like most places, the people of Bern City celebrate it by wearing masks, getting drunk, and setting things on fire. The king and queen host another party because they probably have too much time on their hands, so, naturally, Nino goes as Zephiel’s date. It’s a little easier to just do as they please this time— maybe even expected as part of youth or something. There are other parties going on with bonfires and ale that are undobutedly more fun than a room full of nobles in feathers and sequins, but neither of them are particularly inclined to sneak out, so they find a third-floor balcony and watch the stars from there. It’s another late night, and Nino spends longer at Bern Castle than she had perhaps intended, but she doesn’t regret a thing.  
  
It’s the winter of 981, Nino is sixteen, and everything is wonderful.

* * *

  
XLIX.   
  
With the Festival of Fire passed, the city starts making preparations for the final holiday of the winter— Hearthkeep. Unlike most other holidays, Hearthkeep is still deeply connected with the Seven Creators and the church seems intent to never let anyone forget it. The Black Fang had never observed it particularly closely, unlike First Snow and the Festival of Fire, so Nino hadn’t gotten very familiar with it until she lived with Canas and Ivy. It doesn’t surprise her that she’d managed to forget about it despite what a big deal it was to the pious, considering the year she’s had.  
  
Hearthkeep lasts for a full week, and according to Jan, people spend the five days in the middle staying inside with family, paying respects to their ancestors and remembering where they came from and whatnot, and spend the two days at the beginning and end of the week doing charitable things like giving to the church, mostly.   
  
The realization she’d managed to forget about the biggest religious holiday of the season isn’t particularly jarring. It’s more of just another thought that crosses her mind when she goes outside in the morning to open up the shop for another day’s work and sees more clergy out than usual, posting fliers for donation drives and pre-holiday socials, or standing on corners in front of alms boxes asking passers-by if they’ve been following the good word of St. Elimine in this winter season.  
  
Jan posts the announcement that they’ll be closed for the week of Hearthkeep about a week before it actually begins, and most other shopkeepers have the same idea. Everything is closed during Hearthkeep, except for emergency services and such, and even then the implication is “ _please_ don’t have an emergency at this time of year.” Nobody can reschedule an emergency, of course, but one can hope.   
  
Her last date with Zephiel before the holiday is a walk along the river. Nino gave him a scarf for the Solstice, and it delights her to see that he’s wearing it. It’s red and blue stripes, and it’s very warm and thick, but it’s also kind of lumpy and the fringe leaves much to be desired. She’s told she’ll get better with practice.   
  
“So, I was thinking,” he says, in that way one does when one brings up an Important Topic. “About the whole… relationship thing.”  
  
“What about the whole relationship thing?” Nino replies. “We’re doing great. I couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend.”   
  
She squeezes his hand, and Zeph grins and blushes. “Well, that’s good to hear,” he says. He clears his throat. “I just… you know it’s not that simple.”  
  
Nino’s smile fades. “What are you saying?”  
  
“I’m happy with you, I promise,” he adds quickly. “But I have to think about the future, and things. I’m still the Prince of Bern. After I finish university, I’ll be crowned king.”  
  
Nino hadn’t thought about that. She’s still not very good at this whole “thinking about the future” thing, a fact that she’s becoming increasingly aware of.   
  
“So, what does that mean for us?” she asks.   
  
“Well, one of two things,” Zeph replies. “Either we break up between now and then for whatever reason, or… or we get married.”  
  
Marriage. The idea’s never really occured to her. But that’s how courtships go, isn’t it, is that either it doesn’t work out or it does, and if it does, you marry. Even Nino knows what marriage involves— moving in together, adding her name to someone else’s lineage chart, taking a new last name. And children, too, which sounds even more foreign despite the fact that she’s basically adopted Hugh. That’s different. This is… a lot. Especially when it all kind of drops on you all at once, and when you’re sixteen.   
  
“I… guess so,” Nino mumbles.   
  
“It wouldn’t be now, obviosuly,” Zeph adds. “As I said, it’s after I’m done with school, so there’s another four or five years between now and then. But being married to me means you’d be the Queen of Bern.”  
  
Nino almost wants to laugh. _Her_ , a queen? It sounds like a big joke, and she half-expects Zeph to laugh and say something like _yeah, right, like that’d happen_. But Zeph isn’t laughing, and neither is she.  
  
Nino makes herself smile anyway. “Well, if _that’s_ all,” she says brightly. “I guess I’d better get started learning queenly things, shouldn’t I? Gods know I’ll need all the help I can get.”  
  
Zeph smiles a little. “I’m glad you’re okay with it,” he says. “It’s kind of a lot all at once. But I figure I should tell you before Hearthkeep, or it’d eat at me all week. And then after that we can figure out how to somehow get through all the proper steps and procedures without letting anyone know you’re not actually noble. It just has to be until the marriage is finalized. Then it’ll be too late to do anything about it.”  
  
“That’d sure show your parents, wouldn’t it?” Nino chuckles. “I can just imagine the look on your father’s face.”  
  
“He may well drop dead of shock,” Zeph says. “And of course, then there’s the matter of heirs…” His cheeks flush, and he quickly busies himself looking at the shop displays.   
  
“Right, heirs,” Nino repeats, her smile growing strained. “No big deal. It’s not like it’s happening tomorrow.”  
  
“If you don’t think me rude for saying so, um,” Zeph falters. “I think you’d be a great queen, and mother to heirs and such. You already have one, so that has to make it easier the second time around.”  
  
“Right,” Nino agrees. She feels something unpleasant churning in the pit of her stomach, and she doesn’t understand why. Zeph is wonderful— he’s patient and sweet and doesn’t pry if she doesn’t want to talk about something. And Nino’s always just wanted a home, right? Maybe this is a little grander than four walls and a roof that won’t leak and daffodils out front, but homes come in different shapes and sizes, and life happens in ways you can never really expect. Becoming a queen, getting a castle and fine gowns and anything else she could hope to ask for, should be even better.   
  
So, why does she feel so queasy?

Zeph squeezes her hand. “It’ll be fine,” he promises. “That’s kind of why people court in the first place, isn’t it? To get married someday?”  
  
“I guess so,” Nino admits. She shakes the thoughts away. It’ll be _fine_. Zeph said so.   
  
He sighs in relief. “Well, this went far better than I’d thought,” he says. “I don’t know what I was so worried about. Why _wouldn’t_ anyone want to be the queen, right?”  
  
“It’s like a fairy tale,” Nino says. She forces a chuckle. “I mean, there are definitely worse things to be.”  
  
“I’m just glad you’re okay with it,” he says. Zeph looks genuinely happy— Nino wishes she could say the same. “And I’m glad I brought it up now, instead of at the last minute. It’s good to know what you’re getting into.”  
  
“Of course,” Nino agrees.  
  
“It’ll be great,” Zeph promises. “And we don’t even have to worry about it right now. But, you know, I have a good feeling about this.”  
  
Nino coughs. “Me, too,” she lies. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

* * *

  
L.   
  
Nino understands why Zeph told her all that before Hearthkeep, but she sort of wishes he didn’t, because it creeps into her every thought if she doesn’t make very sure to keep busy. Luckily, Nino is very good at keeping busy, and between Hugh and the holiday, there’s no shortage of things to occupy her thoughts.  
  
At least, until the fourth day, when Jan sits her down on the couch and orders her to rest.  
  
“I don’t need to rest,” she insists. This is untrue. “I still have to clean the oven, and I should really keep an eye on Hugh, too.” The oven is spotless and Hugh has been entertaining himself with the set of the Seven Gods figures that Jan got out as part of the holiday for the past half-hour.   
  
Jan raises an eyebrow.   
  
“Well, it can’t hurt,” Nino replies. She stands up, but Jan puts his hands on her shoulders and pushes her back down.   
  
He sighs and sits next to her on the couch. “Nino, is something bothering you?”  
  
“No,” Nino lies. She’s not a very good liar, which Jan knows. He looks at her dubiously.  
  
Nino sighs. “Alright, _fine_ ,” she caves. “Zeph wants to get married.”  
  
“Now?” Jan asks. “Well, that’s quicker than I’d have expected.”  
  
“After he finishes school,” Nino clarifies. She runs a hand through her bangs. “There’s a whole _thing_. He’ll finish school and then he’ll become the Actual King of Bern, and if we’re still courting by then, we’ll pretty much have to get married, and that’ll make me the Actual Queen of Bern. And then there’s the fact that we totally lied to both his parents since they met me so they both think I’m noble so we’ll have to deal with that somehow, and the whole thing about heirs, and Zeph still thinks Hugh is my son by birth and I haven’t really cared about correcting him because that’d be a lot to explain, and I still don’t know how to dance!”  
  
She sucks in a breath and lets her head lean back on the back cushion. “He said everything would be fine, and, I mean, everything probably will be fine, but I feel queasy every time I think about all of this and I don’t know why.”  
  
Jan hums. “That is quite a predicament,” he says. “Well, perhaps you’re just not ready.”  
  
“I figure that’s what it is,” Nino shrugs. “But I don’t know. Zeph is so optimistic about all of this, and I like him a lot, I really do, but…“ she sighs. “It feels wrong. Maybe I feel guilty because of that time I almost had to kill him. But he doesn’t need to know that, right?”  
  
“Nino,” Jan begins. “What _does_ Prince Zephiel know about you?”  
  
“Just what I’ve told him,” Nino replies. “But, I mean, that’s all he really needs to know, right? It doesn’t matter anymore because it’s over. He’d probably hate me for it, anyway.”  
  
Nino slumps over the armrest of the couch. “I hate this. I’d almost rather be fighting another war than dealing with this stuff. You don’t have to think about your current courtship in a war.”  
  
“I’m afraid questions of one’s courtship don’t stop for war, either,” Jan says, patting her shoulder sympathetically. “Love is still love, no matter where it happens.”  
  
“Love is dumb,” Nino mutters, her face in the armrest. Before the war, Nino never would’ve guessed that there would come a day her biggest problems would be boyfriend issues and shop inventory. Funny how that works.  
  
“It’s hard when you’re young,” Jan agrees. He stands, his knees creaking. “I think this calls for cocoa.”  
  
“I wanna cocoa!” Hugh pipes up. “Please?”  
  
“Of course,” Jan replies. “I’ll get it started and it’ll be ready before you know it.”  
  
Someone knocks on the front door, knocking Nino from her thoughts. She sits up, and Jan frowns, pausing midway through getting the mugs from the cabinet. “Now who could that be?”  
  
“I get it!” Hugh announces, standing up and running to the front door. He gasps in excitement. “Uncle Lego!”  
  
Jan stands. “Well, this is unexpected,” he says, shuffling over to the door. “Dropping in for the holidays, are we?”  
  
“Yeah, uh, I guess you could say that,” Legault says. From what Nino can hear, his voice sounds hurried, almost.  
  
“Can we come in?” Jaffar asks. “It’s kind of urgent.”  
  
Jan steps aside to let them in. Nino almost hears him falter.   
  
“Ah,” he says. His voice sounds strained. “I’m going to need more mugs.”  
  
Nino feels something prickling on the back of her neck. She almost doesn’t want to turn around. Her fists clench, and she feels her muscles tense as if they’re preparing to bolt. But stand and turn she does, and she sees Legault and Jaffar, haggard and travel-worn, exchanging nervous glances and leading someone else into the house.   
  
Nino sees porcelain-pale skin, dark hair, and eyes a horribly familiar shade of gold.

* * *

  
LI.   
  
She’s thirteen all over again. There’s magic, hot and wild in her veins, learned by watching and practiced by guessing. Burns smolder on her skin. There’s something gripping her by the back of her neck, and its nails dig into her skin and its hands burn wherever they touch. There’s fear in her every heartbeat, and she babbles frantically, _sorry_ and _I didn’t mean to_ and _please_ and _I’ll be good, I promise._ Her every word falls upon deaf ears but she’s still trying because she still thinks that if she does everything she’s told to do and she does it exactly right, she’ll be forgiven for all of her numerous transgressions, even if she still doesn’t know what they are. She feels memories she’d thought she’d forgotten coming back up to the surface like wounds reopening themselves, and in the present, where she exists in Jan’s second floor apartment, rooted to the spot with her heart pumping and her every instinct telling her _run_ but also _stay still, it’ll be worse if you run_ but also _please, not again._ She remembers dark curls and immaculate skin and blood-red lips and sharp nails and words that hurt worse than the burns do, and she remembers _getting in my way_ and _stop pestering_ and _haven’t I done enough for you_ and _quiet_ and _stay still_ and _why do I even bother_. She remembers crying, and then learning it’s better not to.  
  
Nino forces herself to breathe, to focus on what’s in front of her. And it eases the panic, just a little, because there are no red lips or sharp nails in sight, only tangled hair and shabby clothing, and Nino knows that the woman in her memories would never appear looking anything less than perfect. Which is a very strange thing to be relieved about, but Nino will take what she can get.  
  
Hugh tugs on her skirt. “Meemo?” His little voice is full of concern. Nino forces a tired smile, for him.   
  
She runs a hand over his head. “I’m okay,” she promises. “What do you need?”  
  
“Cocoa,” he says, pointing to the mugs on the table. “Sit with me, Meemo?”  
  
Nino breathes. “Sure,” she says. She moves, stiffly moving herself over to an empty chair around Jan’s round dining table with a mug half-full of hot chocolate set in its place. She sits. Hugh wiggles into her lap and picks up the half-full mug. She holds him in place with one arm. Jan puts a full mug next to her and nods in silent understanding.   
  
Legault rubs his temples. “So, right, I can explain,” he says. “You all remember Limstella, right?”   
  
Nino has met Limstella once or twice, but they always appeared looking polished and perfect, like all the Morphs. No wonder she didn’t recognize them right away.   
  
“We found them in someone’s barn in the Etrurian countryside,” Legault says. “We got hired to investigate this suspicious figure some village folk mentioned, and, well.” He gestures to Limstella, who hasn’t said anything this whole time.  
  
He shrugs. “Couldn’t just leave ‘em there. Apparently no Nergal and no Black Fang means no orders, so they’ve been drifting around Elibe since the war ended. But we can’t exactly take them with us, so…”  
  
“You want me to take custody,” Jan guesses. He hesitates, then looks to Nino, then Limstella, then Legault. “Well, I can’t say it’s not in the spirit of the holiday.”  
  
“Yours is the only place I know that suits,” Legault says. “Most other Black Fang members are dead. The ones that aren’t don’t want anything to do with any of the Morphs, living or otherwise. Leaving them to wander around the continent would just freak people out. If they stay in one place, maybe get like a job or something, then they’re less likely to cause issues.”  
  
“You have a point,” Jan admits. He looks at Limstella. “You remember all of us, don’t you?”  
  
Limstella nods. They glance around the table. Nino looks at the wood grain and tries to make herself as invisible as possible.   
  
“Correction,” they say. “I don’t remember the child.”  
  
“He’s new, don’t worry about it,” Legault waves a hand. “So, how about it?”  
  
Nino feels more sets of eyes on her. She wants to hide under the table, and Hugh’s weight on her lap is what keeps her in place. She hasn’t touched her cocoa. She’s pretty sure she won’t be able to keep it down. Not for the first time, she curses herself for being so sensitive. This always got her in trouble. Nobody would be thinking twice if she could just say _of course, I can’t just leave them out in the cold, either_ and at least _look_ like she meant it. But now everyone has to take her into account. She’s the reason the decision is taking as long as it is— her and her stupid feelings.  
  
“Perhaps, just…” Jan proposes. “Until we can find Limstella a place of their own, or the means to find one. Nino—“  
  
“That’s fine,” Nino says, far too quickly. “If they need somewhere to stay, then we can be that place. I mean, I bet it beats sleeping in a barn, right?”  
  
Limstella nods. “It is rather cold outside.”  
  
Nino gestures to them. “See? It works out.”  
  
Nobody else looks convinced. Nino wishes she were a better liar.  
  
Legault frowns. “Hey, now,” he says. Nino feels horrible for how gentle he sounds. “If this is gonna hurt you, we can work out another way.”  
  
Nino breathes. “I’ll be _fine_ ,” she says firmly. She sounds a little more convincing this time, though that’s not saying much. “It’s not forever, right? So it’ll be fine.”  
  
“If you say so,” Jan caves. “Not forever. We can work with that.”  
  
Limstella glances around, as if they want to say something, but they stay quiet. Nino doesn’t know which is worse— looking at them and all they remind her of or just knowing they’re there, watching everything with passive neutrality.   
  
“Yeah,” Nino decides, nodding firmly. “It’ll all work out.”  
  
She decides something else, right then, and it’s that Bern isn’t home anymore.

* * *

  
LII.   
  
Nino doesn’t sleep very well.   
  
It’s darkly amusing how she wished for some other problem so she wouldn’t have to think about Zephiel, and now here it is, and she regrets it. One would think that it means the prospect of getting married and becoming the Actual Queen of Bern sounds like a cakewalk, but Nino’s not that lucky. Instead everything twists together in a dissonant song torn between new knowledge and old habits. It never hurt this much when it was happening— probably because she didn’t know there was any other way to be.  
  
For a while, she thinks that she can do this— Limstella isn’t going to stay forever, and when they leave, it’ll be fine again. It’s just a tough patch. This is fine. She can do this. She went through worse for fourteen years. She can handle this. Right?  
  
She _can_ handle it, but she’d forgotten how, exactly, “handling it” worked.   
  
Jaffar and Legault leave after Hearthkeep ends, and Jan spends another few days teaching Limstella how working in the shop goes. They take to it easily, especially Nino's cataloguing system, which isn’t a surprise. It definitely makes things easier on both Jan and Nino to have one more set of hands, especially a set of hands that doesn’t need to eat or sleep to live.   
  
The fact that Limstella doesn’t sleep doesn’t do Nino’s nerves any favors. She knows that Limstella didn’t do anything to her, but that apparently doesn’t matter. The resemblance alone, especially once they have a chance to get a bath and a change of clothes, sets Nino on edge. She flinches when she sees dark hair out of the corner of her eye, when she looks up to see gold eyes looking at her, when she sees pale hands setting the breakfast table.  
  
Aside from that, Limstella and Sonia couldn’t be more different. Sonia had delusionally thought that she was human, and emoted accordingly— and she made sure everyone knew it, especially Nino, and _especially_ when she was annoyed. Limstella, though, knows full well they’re a morph, and hasn’t bothered to even pretend to have emotion for their entire life. Sonia had fancied herself the queen of the Black Fang as it was, and had no qualms about ordering everyone around. Limstella does anything Jan asks them to without complaint. It’s strange enough that it throws Nino’s old habits for a loop— they look so alike, but act so different. It’s strange, to the point it disorients her on bad days.  
  
After another week, Nino decides that she has to leave. It’s not a decision made lightly— after all, this time she’s leaving people who _care_ about her. Jan will be sad. And of course, she’ll have to end things with Zeph, and she doesn’t like the prospect, even if it needs to happen. Ultimately, the decision is for her sake, rather than for Hugh’s, but Hugh goes where she goes.   
  
Jan sighs, but he understands, and he wishes them well. She’ll need another day to prepare— time to get used to the idea of leaving. Hugh knows that Meemo doesn’t like this new person, and he’s not old enough to know why, but he knows it’s not good, and that’s enough for him, even if he doesn’t like the idea of moving again. Nino doesn’t know what Limstella thinks, but Limstella’s thoughts are the last thing Nino wants to know.   
  
Nino can’t sleep. She goes over the packing list again and again, not seeing the words and only writing and rewriting in her head how she’ll break the news to Zephiel. She considers just sending a letter, but thinks better of it. She’s about to break the poor boy’s heart— the least she can do is say it to his face.   
  
“Do I frighten you?” Limstella asks. Nino jumps, her chair scraping on the floorboards. She puts a hand over her racing heart and forces herself to settle down.   
  
“That’s not quite it,” Nino replies. She looks back at the list and adds first aid kit. “I’m not afraid of you. Just…”  
  
“I remind you of Sonia,” they say. “We look alike. You’re right.”  
  
Congratulations, you nailed it, Nino thinks. She’s not stupid enough to say that. “It’s not your fault.”  
  
“If I am unwelcome here, I can leave,” Limstella says. “I am… new, at handling human emotions. But I know that my presence hurts you, even if I can’t hope to empathize.”  
  
Nino bites at her lip. “Look, don’t worry about me,” she says. “I’ve already made up my mind that Hugh and I are going to leave. You can stay here for as long as Jan needs you to. He’ll need someone to help out, anyway, even if he’s too proud to say so.”  
  
Limstella nods. “I can help,” they say. “I have hurt… many people, on Lord Nergal’s orders. But with him gone, I can choose what to do. I don’t need to hurt anybody anymore. I want to not hurt you.”  
  
Nino is quiet.  
  
“I remember you from before,” Limstella says. “You were Sonia’s ward. You kept the braziers at the headquarters lit. You were very small, and good with the fire.”  
  
“I’ve been told,” Nino mumbles. She remembers that, too— she’d been so thrilled when Sonia told her that she had a big-girl job that was very important, now that she could do magic. She’d promised that if she did it well enough, she’d give Nino the attention she wanted. Of course, she never did.  
  
Limstella hesitates. “If there is anything you’d like me to do,” she says. “To help you heal, then I can do it.”  
  
Nino takes a shaky breath. “Anything?”  
  
Limstella nods.  
  
The words are harder to say than she’d thought, and they taste bitter on her tongue. But she does say them.  
  
“Please,” she says. “Leave me alone.”  
  
Limstella does. Nino doesn’t know if she feels better or worse.

* * *

  
LIII.   
  
They’re going to leave first thing tomorrow morning. Nino has the bags mostly packed. There’s just a few more things to pack, and she’s just picked them up at the market. But she has one more thing to do, no matter how much she’s been dreading it.   
  
School is back in session. Nino waits for Zephiel by the campus gates, and she knows when to do it because she knows his schedule. His face lights up when he sees her, and Nino feels awful.  
  
“Nino!” he says. “It’s good to see you! How was Hearthkeep?”  
  
Of course he had to ask that. “It went great,” she says. “Yours?”  
  
Zeph shrugs. “It’s a big castle. Being stuck at home with my father isn’t so bad with that in mind.”  
  
“That’s good,” Nino says. “Hey, Zeph, do you have a minute? Do you want to take a walk, maybe?”  
  
Zeph nods. “Sure! A classmate told me about this place a few blocks away that has the best hot tea and I’ve been meaning to take a look. Maybe there?”  
  
“I was thinking maybe the grove,” Nino says. Nobody will be there in this cold, and Nino doesn’t want to do this with a bunch of people around.   
  
“Oh, that works too,” Zeph agrees. “Whatever you want.”  
  
Nino smiles gratefully and takes his hand. For a moment, it feels like there are no problems or doubts. Unfortunately, being hyper-aware of reality is so deeply ingrained into her being that it’s hard to sink into the fantasy.  
  
The grove isn’t far. Bern’s a big city, but not so big that one can’t get where they need to go by walking. The trees are bare in winter. Decaying brown leaves litter the grass. Zeph swings their hands a little as they walk, his cheeks and nose pink in the cold. He has his scarf tugged up as high as it’ll go. Nino’s chest aches.  
  
She bites the bullet. “Hey, Zeph,” she says. “I… this is going to sound _awful_ , but we need to talk.”  
  
Zeph’s smile fades. “About?”  
  
“I’m leaving Bern,” she confesses. “I— things have changed, and I can’t stay anymore. I don’t know where I’ll be going, but I really, _really_ doubt I’ll be coming back.”  
  
He blinks. He looks almost like he’s been slapped, but it hasn’t quite registered. “So… you… what?”  
  
She pulls her hand away and pushes her bangs out of her face. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Zeph, these past few months have been amazing, and I’ve had a great time talking to you, and going out, and even those awkward formal function moments with your parents were worth it because you were there. But I have to go.”  
  
“Are you… breaking up with me?” Zeph asks, in disbelief. “Is this about the whole queen thing? You know I have every confidence in you—“  
  
“No, Zeph, it’s not that,” Nino cuts him off. “It’s nothing you said or did. It’s just… how things need to be. The truth is that there’s a lot I haven’t told you, and that includes the exact reason I need to leave. You’re wonderful, but…” she shakes her head.   
  
He blinks. “So that’s it?” he says. “Just… like that?”  
  
Nino nods, pursing her lips. “That’s it,” she says. “But, um, thanks for everything.”  
  
“Can I at least see you off?” he asks weakly.  
  
She shakes her head. “If you did, I may not be able to leave.”  
  
“Well, it was worth a shot.” He smiles sadly, and sticks his hands into his coat pockets. “What do we say now? _It was fun while it lasted, have a nice life? I hope your future relationships go better than this one? We can still be friends?”_  
  
“I’d suggest we can write to each other, but _I_ don’t even know where I’m going,” Nino chuckles. “I’m sorry, Zeph. Maybe if circumstances were different, and I could tell you everything, then…”  
  
Zeph swallows and shakes his head. “No, no, I understand,” he says. “I, um. Safe travels?”  
  
“Thanks,” she says, her voice hollow. She hates that it’s what has to be done. She hates that it’s over— it feels like she reached the ending of a really good book, but the ending was short and sad and unsatisfying, but that’s the last page and there’s no sequel.   
  
She breathes. It’s time to go.

* * *

  
LIV.   
  
It’s time to go. Nino double-knots Hugh’s bootlaces and she lets Jan wrap her scarf around her neck. Nobody’s crying, but it’s not a happy goodbye. It’s tense— everyone knows why they’re leaving, but nothing anyone can say can fix it now.   
  
“Where will you go now?” Jan asks.   
  
Nino’s thought about this. “Lycia, I think,” she says. “Eliwood offered me a place in Pherae after the war, and maybe his offer’s still open. Worth a shot, right?”  
  
Jan nods. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. He looks like he wants to say come back and visit, if you’re ever around, but he knows that won’t happen. Instead, he says, “When you get to where you’re going, be sure to write so I know you got there safely. Okay?”  
  
She smiles, just a little. “Okay, Uncle Jan,” she says. “Come on, Hugh, time to go.”  
  
Hugh grumbles, but he reaches up and takes Nino’s hand. She wants to promise that this time, when they get to where they’re going, they’re not going to leave, but there’s no guarantee that they wouldn’t leave again. Still, she can hope.  
  
She swallows, looking down at the stairway leading from the porch to street level. Jan stands in the doorway, and she can see Limstella hovering nearby.   
  
She looks up. “Limstella,” she says.  
  
Limstella looks up. Jan steps aside. They step forward. “Yes?”  
  
It’s hard to say what she wants to say, but she figures it out. “I don’t hate you,” she says.  
  
Limstella nods. “I don’t hate you, either.”  
  
Nino nods, and then she makes herself turn around and take the first step away— the first step on the next leg of a journey that just keeps getting longer. It’s some comfort that she knows it’s what has to be done, but still— it’s not easy to leave somewhere that was home, even if it’s not home anymore.   
  
Somewhere, though. Somewhere will be home for good.


	12. LV-LXI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I hope this song will guide you home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12 chapters in and we still haven't met rebecca. i'd say it's slow burn, but let's be real, they're gonna get right the fuck down to it once they meet up again, you know it's true

LV.  
  
Even in the lowlands, Bern’s winters are harsh. Bern is a place of extremes— hot, humid summers and harsh, freezing winters; months without rain and then a week of thunderstorms; and of course, the fact that they’re in a basin doesn’t help matters. Pretty much all of Bern’s populous is settled along the river and the lakeshore, because everywhere else in the lowlands is a dry, unforgiving desert with hard ground and red clay inches below the surface, pockmarked with uneven rock formations and sprinkled with patches of shortgrass, brambles, and cacti, because it’s not a desert without at least a few of those.  
  
When one thinks of Bern’s lowland deserts, one typically thinks of a stifling heat so blistering that the air itself ripples. That’s true in the summer, but as is appropriate for Bern, in the winter, it’s so cold and dry that it chaps lips and stings in one’s lungs. The dry combined with the cold and the below-freezing temperatures of the desert nights make travel through the lowlands in the wrong weather as dangerous— if not more dangerous— than travel through Bern’s steep and craggy mountains that ring the country. There’s a saying that only the dumb and the desperate travel the lowlands in the off-season. Nino has no reason to argue.  
  
So it’s back to traveling— back to days of empty wilderness without seeing another soul, making sure that Hugh’s bundled up enough, spending just a little bit of magic to light their campfires and never sleeping, just resting, jolting back to alertness at every little sound. There’s no real point in complaining, not even to herself. What’s another few miles, after walking for a hundred?  
  
The road stretches across the desert, traveled but marked out only by thick stone mile markers and the occasional beware of coyotes sign. Not raiders— it’s not worth it. They take the road west, across the river and the fertile ground that surrounds it, and then it’s emptiness for miles. Nino really only knows they’re still on the same road by the mile markers and the signposts pointing how far it is to Bern City or to the nearest depot town. She spots more signs pounded into the ground by passing travelers with dark senses of humor, boasting parchments pinned to the wood saying things like _Welcome to Purgatory— Population: you_ and _Over one hundred people die on the Westroad every season— beware of vengeful undead._ The most interesting thing they pass is a sign pointing out an intact dragon skeleton from the days of the Scouring, and it’s five feet away and about the size of your average wyvern (it probably _is_ a wyvern). Nino can practically hear the _made you look_ from across time and space. It’s amusing, if only because it’s the only thing of interest Nino’s seen in the week and a half they’ve been traveling.  
  
Hugh tugs on her hand. “How much further, Meemo?”  
  
Nino sighs. “Hell if I know.”  
  
LVI.  
  
It’s been two weeks. They’re theoretically not too far from the Lycian border. And Nino will admit that she sees _some_ sign that they’re getting close to the end of the desert— there’s more grass and brambles than there is bare ground, and she’s even seen a few scrubby trees here and there, but it still feels like a whole lot of space with a whole lot of empty. Nino almost misses the mushy, snowy trek through the Ilian mountains. At least there was some visual interest.  
  
It’s cold. Nino is cold. Hugh is cold, and Nino hates herself for it. She does her best to make sure his mittens are on and his ears are covered, but it’s not enough. It’s too cold, the wind too chilly, the air too dry. His little lips are chapped— so are Nino’s. She wishes she’d brought more layers. She wishes they had thicker blankets, or that she knew how to set up a tent. More than that, she wishes she weren’t so gods-damned sensitive. Limstella means well. Nino will survive. It was a stupid, stupid decision to uproot the life they’d made in Bern just because Nino couldn’t handle a familiar face.  
  
Hugh tugs on her hand. “Meemo, I’m tired,” he whines. Nino understands. Hugh’s still not used to traveling by night— but it’s safer to rest during the day, when you’re less likely to freeze to death if you stop to rest. “Up?”  
  
Nino sighs. “Okay,” she says. “But no sleeping, okay? I know you’re tired, but you have to stay awake.”  
  
Hugh nods. He holds his arms out. Nino picks him up, shifting slowly. Between the weight of the backpack and the fact that Hugh’s getting big, it feels like her knees are about to buckle like an accordion belt. It’s too much. She can’t do it. She does anyway.  
  
“Okay, remember, no sleeping,” she says, as Hugh rests his head on her shoulder and puts his arms around her neck. “No sleeping until I can get a fire made, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Hugh mumbles. Nino curses under her breath. She has to do something.  
  
“We’re not that far from Lycia,” she says. “I was born in Lycia. I don’t remember it very well, though. There’s a place called Pherae there, and I didn’t stay there very long, but it’s a very nice place. I think it’s likely we’ll be going there. I’m friends with the Marquess, and he offered to find me somewhere to stay after the war. I hope his offer is still open.”  
  
“Fray?” Hugh repeats. “What’s a markess?”  
  
“It’s like,” Nino considers this. “The person in charge of a territory. Like how Uncle Jan was in charge of the shop.”  
  
“Ohh.” She feels Hugh nod. He shifts a bit, his face pressed into her shoulder and his voice muffled.  
  
“Lycia is a really nice place,” Nino says. “It’s much warmer than Ilia, but not quite so hot and humid as Bern gets. Pherae is close to the ocean.”  
  
“That’s where fish live,” Hugh says.  
  
“That’s right, it is where fish live,” Nino agrees.  
  
“Is th’ markess a fish, too?” Hugh asks.  
  
Nino chuckles. It’s a welcome bit of levity amidst the cold. “Not that I know of. But you’ll probably get to meet him at some point, so you can ask him yourself.”  
  
Hugh hums. “Okay.”  
  
“There are other places in Lycia, too,” Nino says. She doesn’t think she’s being very interesting, but as long as Hugh’s responding, it’ll do. “There’s a place called Ostia. I know the Marquess there, too. He and the Marquess of Pherae are good friends. And both of them are friends with Auntie Lyn.”  
  
“Like Bear an’ Dodo,” Hugh says. It takes a second for Nino to remember he’s talking about his toys.  
  
“Exactly like that,” she says. “And then they’re all friends with Lady Ninian. She likes music, just like you. Her brother was a musician.”  
  
“I can make real big sounds,” he says.  
  
“And you’re very good at it,” she promises. “Let’s see, um… oh! I’m also friends with these two archers named Rebecca and Wil. They’re from a littler town near Pherae.” Nino pauses. “I wonder if we could drop by for a visit. That’d be nice. Though it’s been a while.”  
  
Nino stops walking for a minute to breathe and shift Hugh on her hip, just a little, which proves to be a mistake when she feels her knees protest. Walking is easier than standing, which seems counterintuitive, but there it is.  
  
She grimaces. “Hugh, let’s sit down for a minute,” she says. “Okay?”  
  
Hugh nods. Nino sets him down gently, then drops onto the ground herself to maybe repair her relationship with her knees. This is ridiculous. She is sixteen. Maybe mentally she had to be more grown-up than that, but aching bones were further in her future, right? Maybe not. She can just add that to the list of things wrong with her.  
  
Her knees hurt. Her back hurts. Her chest hurts. She’s tired and cold and just wants to turn around and go back to Jan’s house, sawdust and cat hair and all. She shouldn’t have left Bern. She didn’t need to pack everything up and break up with Zephiel and leave Jan behind just because of a few bad memories. Maybe she shouldn’t have even left Ilia. Or maybe she should’ve left Hugh to be raised by someone who had actual life experience and walked to Pherae alone.  
  
Though, she can’t assume she’d have even made it to Pherae, even traveling alone. Maybe, in this hypothetical future that didn’t happen, she really _would_ have ended up dying of magic overuse, alone and anonymous in the middle of nowhere. A fittingly disappointing end to an equally disappointing life, as far as she’s concerned.  
  
Hugh tugs on her sleeve, snapping her out of her depressing reverie. “Meemo,” he says. “Meemo, lookit.”  
  
Nino looks up. “What am I looking at?”  
  
“Lookit,” Hugh says again. He’s pointing somewhere in the distance— or maybe it’s close, Nino can’t tell. She squints, trying to focus. But there’s definitely something there— and it looks like torchlights.  
  
Torches mean people. People could mean somewhere to rest.  
  
She stands back up and pulls the backpack back on with a grimace. Whoever said that you eventually get used to carrying heavy loads is a gods-damned liar. “Come on, Hugh,” she says, picking him up again. “It might be an inn.” Or, barring that, someone crazy enough to live this far in the middle of nowhere that’s still soft enough they’ll let Nino borrow their living room floor for the night. Nino doesn’t like it much, but they’re definitely pathetic-looking enough that it won’t be hard to sucker someone with a moral compass.  
  
It’s neither of those things. It turns out to be a tiny church, half-overgrown with brambles and grasses, loose sand and pebbles piled up around the walls like it’s just been unearthed, its doors weathered to smoothness, its clay roofing shingles battered and full of sand. Nino can barely make out a town in the darkness near it. A crooked wooden sign identifies the town as _Pharos- Population: 27_. The little church is the only place with any lights on, though— the rest of the town almost looks abandoned.  
  
Even Nino will admit that this is kind of creepy. But it’s either this or freeze, so she might as well.  
  
The doors are unlocked, and swing open enough for Nino to get through without much effort. They creak shut again once she’s through, and the clunk echoes through the space. It seems bigger, somehow— it may be because it’s all one space, it seems like, from end to end. It’s all the same weathered stone and exposed rafters. It’s not quite round— an octagon, if Nino had to guess, but the weathered corners make it hard to really tell. There’s no fireplaces, but the whole space is still warmer than Nino would’ve expected.  
  
There’s an icon at the end of the church, and Nino expects it to be something with St. Elimine or, in the rare case it’s from before then, something with one or more of the Seven Gods, but it's neither. Instead, there’s a rotunda with a round pit in the center— an empty fountain, presumably— tall windows, mostly-melted candles guttering in their own melted wax, and a whole lot of flowers in bushels to the sides and scattered around a painting. The painting is weathered and yellowed with age, but it’s clearly the centerpiece, and people have taken great pains to take care of it. Nino gets a little closer, closer, until she’s standing in front of the empty fountain and staring right at the figure in the painting. It’s a young girl, if Nino isn’t mistaken— about her age, actually, maybe a litttle younger— with a loose, draped gown falling off one shoulder, pointed ears, and closed eyes. It’s not a very realistic or detailed painting, but Nino gets the general idea. She just doesn’t know who it’s supposed to be.  
  
Hugh tugs on her sleeve. “Down, please?”  
  
Nino sets him down. She leans the bag against the edge of the empty fountain. She sits down on the edge, then turns around, still looking at the painting. It feels familiar, but she just can’t place it. Hugh plops himself down next to the backpack and paws through the outermost pocket until he finds an orange. He hands it to Nino. Nino jabs her thumbnail into where the stem was and peels it from there.  
  
“Who are you, anyway?” Nino mumbles, looking at the painting. Predictably, it does not respond. She feels an air of sadness about it, and isn’t sure why.  
  
Somewhere, elsewhere in the church, a clock strikes eleven. Nino hears footsteps, and looks up. There’s a very old woman in heavy priestess robes entering the main room of the church. She’s short and stooped, and she’s using a battered healing staff as a cane.  
  
She blinks over the tops of her glasses at Nino and Hugh. “Well, good evening,” she says. “Come to pay your respects?”  
  
“I,” Nino says. She shakes her head, turning around and standing back up. “Sorry. We were just stopping to rest for a bit. We’ll get going.”  
  
“In _this_ weather? You’d freeze,” the old woman tuts. “Ah, so few people come by these days. You’re welcome to rest as long as you like. We’ve empty beds in the back, though they’ve been empty for so long, I fear they’ve forgotten how to be beds.” She chuckles at her little joke. Nino’s not sure what to make of her. Nino doesn’t have much experience with old ladies, except for Niime, and Niime was very notably different from most. This old lady looks like she walked right off the cover of _Grandmothering for Dummies._  
  
The old woman creaks up to the front and eases herself onto one of the benches lined up in rows along the main body of the church. She smiles at Nino. “No need to be shy.”  
  
Nino remembers she’s supposed to respond. “Oh,” she says. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”  
  
“Saint Elimine teaches us to help those in need,” the old woman says. “Am I correct in assuming you could use a hand?”  
  
Nino nods, rubbing the back of her neck. She splits the peeled orange in half and hands part to Hugh. She’s about to start with the second half, but stops, and looks back up at the old woman. “I've got another orange in my bag. Do you want some?”  
  
“No, thank you,” she says. “It’s very sweet of you to offer. What’s your name, child?”  
  
“Nino,” Nino says. “This is Hugh.” Hugh looks up, his face already sticky with half-eaten orange. He looks at the old woman, who smiles at him, and he looks away and scoots closer to Nino.  
  
“You two seem fairly young to be traveling alone,” the old woman says. “Especially in this season.”  
  
Nino’s jaw tenses. “Well, circumstances,” she says. “We’re going to Pherae. But we made it most of the way through the desert, so I’m going to hope our luck holds out. What should I call you, ma’am?”  
  
“Well, I’m supposed to be Mother Ella,” the woman says. “But since nobody who cares overmuch is around, just Ella is fine.”  
  
“If you say so,” Nino says. “Mother Ella.”  
  
Mother Ella chuckles. “If you’re more comfortable using the title, then by all means,” she says.  
  
“May I ask something?” Nino ventures.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
Nino nods to the painting. “Is that Saint Elimine? I wasn’t sure right at first, because I’d never seen this particular depiction of her in any books or anything— my aunt was a Sage, and I lived with her for a while, so I learned about that kind of thing.” She pauses. “I mean, not that much. I’m not an expert or anything, I just read some books.”  
  
“Ah, the painting?” Mother Ella says. “That’s actually not Elimine at all.”  
  
Nino’s ears turn red. “Oh. Um, who is it, then?”  
  
Something in Mother Ella’s bearing shifts to something a little more solemn, a little more somber. “Have you heard the story of Idunn, while learning of Elimine and her teachings?”  
  
Nino blinks. “Um, a little,” she says. “That’s her? This is a temple for her?”  
  
“Of a sort.” Nino has no idea what she means by that. Mother Ella stands and goes to face the painting. Nino isn’t really sure why, but she follows. It just feels like the thing to do.  
  
“The Aqulist church doesn’t like to talk about little Idunn,” Mother Ella says. “Towards the end of her life, Elimine wrote about her, and considers the fact that she couldn’t save Idunn her greatest failure. They want Elimine to be perfect, you see. They can’t have recorded failures, even self-admitted.”  
  
“Failure?” Nino repeats. “But she did so much good in the world. She helped so many people.”  
  
“She did do a lot of good,” Mother Ella admits. “But we all have things that haunt us— people that we couldn’t save. Saint Elimine was no different. She was no more holy than the rest of us, saint or no. The Aqulist church also likes to ignore that.”  
  
She reaches out and brushes a stray flower off the frame. She looks mournfully at the painting, as if she were looking at an image of someone she’d known and loved and lost. “The Eight Legends sealed Idunn away,” she says. “And there she stayed, frozen in time and space, locked away and forgotten to history.”  
  
Forgotten to history. Nino can relate.  
  
“That explains it,” she says. “There’s something really… sad about this place, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.” She chuckles without much humor. “It figures that I’d find my way to a church for a forgotten goddess. Birds of a feather, and all that.”  
  
“Oh?” Mother Ella asks. “Why do you say that?”  
  
Nino shrugs. “Always have, I guess. I never thought very much about being alive this long when I was a kid. And even later on, I was focused more on surviving than living. I’m trying to do better now that I have him to think about.” She nods to Hugh, who’s still working his way through the orange, his face and hands sticky.  
  
She puts her hands in the pockets of her coat, still looking at the painting. “I’m not very good at it. But I said I’d do my best, so.”  
  
Mother Ella hums. She’s quiet for a while. Nino knows she heard her, even though she’s still looking at the painting. Like many paintings of deities, it’s quite stylized. She’s painted with flowers growing around her feet, and there’s an apple in her hands and a bird on her shoulder.  
  
“I must wonder if it’s providence that the two of you came here on the very day dedicated to Idunn,” she says. “Two lost children, taking shelter in one of the only places left that remembers the little ghost, on the Day of the Forgotten.”  
  
Nino feels a chill run down her spine. “Day of the Forgotten?” she says. “That’s Idunn’s day?”  
  
“Modern times have seen the traditions of her day merged with Hearthkeep, the holiday for the god Heidrun,” Mother Ella says. “But this was the day that Elimine and the Eight Legends would all visit the Stillwind Temple together. They made sure the wards were holding. They sat and talked together, and they talked to her, knowing that she probably couldn’t hear them, but they did just the same. It became a holiday for spending time with one’s friends and family, strengthening the bonds that keep us together.  
  
“They don’t talk about it very much,” Mother Ella says. “But the gods rejected Idunn, and the events that followed nearly destroyed the world. Elimine saw the truth in this, and worked the rest of her life both towards preventing more forsaken children just like her, and to restore Idunn’s soul and let her know that she was not alone.”  
  
It hits like a punch in the chest. Nino digs her hands into the pocket of her coat. But the strange thing is, she doesn’t know if it’s a bad feeling or a good one.  
  
“No more forgotten children,” Nino says. “No more Idunns. No more Ninos.”  
  
Mother Ella hums. She’s looked away from the painting now, and she’s looking to Nino. There’s something like a sparkle in her eyes. Nino isn’t really sure why. It must be an old-lady thing.  
  
She smiles at Nino. “You,” she says. “Are going to be _amazing_.”  
  
LVII.  
  
They leave Pharos behind the next morning, continuing along the dirt road towards Lycia. The fields turn from scrub to prairie to farmland, wagon tracks appear in the dirt, and when Nino realizes that they’re facing rolling wheat fields covered in a layer of frost instead of miles of desert, she lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. They’d crossed into Lycia.  
  
There’s a fork in the road, and a signpost planted firmly in the ground. Unlike the signs in the desert, this one is stalwart and official-looking, and it declares that it’s one week south to Pherae, sixteen days west to Ostia, and four days north to Taras, the western and lesser-known city in Sacae. A sign just below Pherae’s arrow notes that it’s also just an hour to Araphen— though, of course, all of these are by a horse at a standard fourteen-hour traveling pace, a brisk walking speed, and with appropriate stops to rest. Nino guesses it’ll take her twice that.  
  
_Araphen_. Nino recalls something Merlinus said, ages ago, on the way to Bulgar— it feels like another lifetime. What was it? She thinks he’d said that was where Lucius set up that orphanage.  
  
It feels somehow ironic that her destination is an orphanage. Nonetheless, the important part is that it’s a destination, and she can figure out the rest as she goes. She’s doing an awful lot of that. Maybe she’s just not that great at trip-planning.  
  
Either way, Araphen it is, and staying in a real place for a few days sounds like a welcome break from camping.  
  
LVIII.  
  
Araphen’s a city, but not a big enough city to compare to Bern’s capital. It’s dusted in powdery snowfall piled up against the walls of the buildings and coating roof shingles. The city’s quieter than Bern— at the very least, fewer people are out in the wintertime, though some are. Nino doesn’t draw many second glances as they walk along the main roads. Maybe she finally looks old enough to have a child Hugh’s age.  
  
There’s a manor on the outskirts. It looks old, but stately, stalwart, but despite all of that, there’s life— there are children playing out on the grounds in the thin layer of snowfall, packing into balls and throwing it at each other as children are wont to do when it snows. A sign by the fence says _St. Elimine’s Hope Orphanage_ , but that’s not the sign that catches Nino’s attention. It’s the sign out by the gate, the old stone sign by the road marking the land as Important Person Land, and the name says _Morgenstern_.  
  
“That’s my name,” Nino mumbles. She should leave. This isn’t her house anymore. And yet, she can’t leave. She walks up the gravel path towards the porch and the front door.  
  
It opens while Nino’s staring at it. A few little kids in too-big coats toddle out the front door and return to playing, shepherded by a man in trousers with patched knees and a gingham apron. He’s tall, redheaded, and scowly, though none of the children seem afraid of him in the slightest.  
  
“And watch where you’re going when you run this time,” he calls after them. “You know what Father said about playing on the hill! And—“ they’re gone. He sighs. Then he notices Nino, and blinks. His bemusement doesn’t last for very long, though.  
  
“Well,” he says. “Can’t say I didn’t expect you to be by.”  
  
“I,” Nino manages. “Sir Raven?”  
  
He grunts. “Hurry on in, I don’t have all day.”  
  
Nino’s never been in the business of disobeying direct orders, and at the moment she’s too confused to argue anyway. Raven holds the door open for her and Hugh, then lets it shut. Nino glances around the inside of the house.  
  
It’s warm, is the first thing she notices. There’s a smell of cocoa that makes something in her ache with a memory that feels like it’s from another lifetime. There are fires in all the hearths. There are books on the shelves. There’s a coat rack just inside the door with hooks at various heights, some empty and some not, and the ones that aren’t hold kids’ coats and hats and scarves. Nino makes sure Hugh wipes his feet on the mat before coming inside.  
  
“Heard from the Hurricane that you’d left Ilia,” Raven says, leading her back through the house.  
  
“You spoke to Uncle Legault?” Nino asks.  
  
Raven shrugs. “He shows up every now and then, to piss me off. As he does.”  
  
Uncle Legault does have a way of getting under peoples’ skin. “What is this place, exactly?”  
  
Raven quirks an eyebrow. “Is it not obvious?”  
  
“No, I mean, yes, it is,” Nino admits. “It’s an orphanage, I saw the sign. But what are _you_ doing here?”  
  
“I help out here and there,” Raven replies. “Lucius sometimes needs a hand, and it’s no skin off my back. It’s really his place, though. He’ll be glad to see you. Oi, Lucius.”  
  
Raven knocks on the living room doorframe. Lucius looks up from mending a stuffed toy in a rocking chair by the hearth. He looks about the same as he did last time Nino saw him— the same Aqulist robes, the same long hair, the same gentle eyes. The only difference is that he has his hair tied behind his head and he has another apron tied over his robes, except unlike Raven’s, his has pockets. He looks like he’s exactly where he ought to be, and never intends to leave.  
  
“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” he says. “It’s been too long, Nino. Are you taking your vitamins?”  
  
Nino grimaces, which tells Lucius all he needs to know.  
  
“Come, sit,” he says, gesturing to the sofa. Nino sits. Hugh wiggles in next to her and latches onto her coat with his tiny fist.  
  
“I’d heard you’d started up an orphanage,” she says. “It seems to be going well.”  
  
“Such as things are, yes,” Lucius agrees. “We recently moved into this lovely manor. It’s suited us quite well, especially since we have ten orphans in our care— which is a _bit_ much for our old building. Raven helps out a great deal, and Serra all but lives here, too. She's over in Ostia for the winter.”  
  
“It’s a nice place,” she says. It feels like a good place for a home— especially a big one. Even having stood unoccupied for years, it feels like it welcomes life within its walls. It feels like a good place to grow up. (Like it would’ve _been_ a good place to grow up.)  
  
A small child tugs on Raven’s sleeve. “Mamabird, Nicky fell out of the tree again,” he says.  
  
Raven sighs. “Alright, lead me to him. I swear, if that punk climbs the damn tree _one_ more time…”  
  
Nino raises an eyebrow, looking from Raven’s retreating back to the smile on Lucius’s face. “Mamabird?”  
  
“Janie, the first child we took in, couldn’t quite say ‘Raven,’” he says. “So she said Bird, which turned into Mamabird, and it stuck. He says he hates it, but I know better.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have expected Sir Raven of all people to be working at an orphanage,” Nino admits. “He always seemed so…”  
  
“Brooding?” Lucius guesses. “Angry? Frightening?”  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
“Well, he claims to still be wandering Elibe, pursuing his revenge,” Lucius says. “But he spends quite a bit of his time here. Every time he returns, he stays a little longer. I think he enjoys having a home to return to.”  
  
“It’s a good feeling,” Nino says, idly rubbing her thumb over the wood grain of the table. “I guess that’s what I’m going for. I wish I could think of something more specific. I don’t even know where home is.”  
  
“If you knew, I suppose that you’d be there by now,” Lucius replies.  
  
She nods. “I thought it’d be Jan’s house in Bern, for a while,” she said. “We stayed there for months. I got used to it. I learned my way around like the back of my hand. I talked with the shopkeepers in the market. I had a _boyfriend_ , Lucius. But…” She looks at her knees. “One of the Morphs showed up, and we have no idea why, but they’re not dangerous anymore, and we couldn’t leave them out in the cold, and I _thought_ I’d be able to handle it fine, but…”  
  
Nino swallows hard and rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s not home anymore.”  
  
Lucius hums in understanding. “I can’t tell you where home _will_ be,” he says. “But I can say that we’ll shelter you for as long as you need.”  
  
“A St. Elimine orphanage,” Nino chuckles, without much humor. “We’ll fit right in.”  
  
“Saint Elimine teaches us to help those in need,” Lucius says, unknowingly echoing the same words Nino heard in the little desert church. “I can think of no way I would rather be her hands in the world than raising children that know they are loved.”  
  
It’s a very Lucius kind of sentiment, and Nino understands. She and Lucius have a lot in common, even if neither of them are particularly happy about what that implies. Nino wishes she could be as levelheaded and faithful as Lucius. She could really use a hand from Elimine.  
  
“Father Lucius,” she begins. “This may seem like an abrupt change in topic, but… do you know anything about the Day of the Forgotten?”  
  
Lucius’s smile fades to something somber, almost mournful. “I am… familiar, yes. Why do you ask?”  
  
“On our way west from Bern City, Hugh and I stopped in this tiny little church in the desert,” she says. “It was dedicated to Idunn. I didn’t even know the name until the priestess told me what her deal was. So I suppose I was just wondering if it wasn’t a hallucination or something.”  
  
“Curious,” Lucius remarks. “I’ve never seen a _church_ dedicated to Idunn, but it doesn’t surprise me much that one exists. Idunn and the Day of the Forgotten, you see, were St. Elimine’s attempt to teach her followers that the Scouring did not come from a war between humans and dragons, but from a child rejected by those who were supposed to care for her. The gods left Idunn behind for something that she didn’t do, so she was found by someone who took advantage of this for dangerous purposes, and it nearly drove all the world to extinction. I find it quite darkly ironic that, nearly a millennium later, Idunn would be forgotten again.  
  
“St. Elimine greatly regretted being unable to save Idunn,” he says. “But she is only mortal. She could only do so much.”  
  
“Do you believe Idunn exists?” Nino asks.  
  
“I do, yes,” Lucius agrees. “But all the belief in the world means nothing if the Stillwind Temple is nowhere to be found. Piety is a wonderful thing, but without action, it’s hollow and insincere.”  
  
Nino wonders when Lucius got so quotable. She fidgets with the hem of her skirt, looking at the embers in the fireplace, crackling merrily, as fire often does. Hugh kicks his heels against the sofa, still sticking close to Nino’s side.  
  
“Let us speak of better things,” Lucius decides. “You don’t need me to tell you how to feel about spiritual matters. I can tell you haven’t been getting enough vitamins, _or_ resting well, likely. Have you used much magic?”  
  
Nino shrugs. “Little bits,” she admits. “Lighting our campfires and things. And this one time in Sacae…”  
  
“Go on.” He’s using his doctor voice. Nino hates the doctor voice.  
  
“We were attacked by some raiders,” Nino says. “And I had to fight back to protect Hugh, so I set some of them on fire, and one of them got in a lucky shot to my shoulder.” She sets a hand on the shoulder in question. It’s long since scarred over, but it does still ache sometimes, when the weather changes. “I managed to remember enough to close it up, but I didn’t do it too well, so it got infected… I was lucky enough that Jaffar and Legault were in the area, but it wasn’t very fun.”  
  
Lucius clicks his tongue. “You’re lucky it was just an infection,” he says. “Self-healing is very risky business, especially with magic reserves as low as yours. I know it was the only option, but I hope you know that you were very, very fortunate to get out of it with just a scar.”  
  
Nino holds up a hand. “No more magic,” she says. “Promise. I’m making a conscious effort to avoid dying.”  
  
“See that you do,” Lucius replies. “How long do you think you’ll be staying? I request that you stay at least long enough for a checkup.”  
  
_Actually, I have to go, right now,_ Nino thinks. She sighs. “Really? But I’m fine!”  
  
“You,” Lucius says pointedly. “Are getting dangerously close to debilitating levels of magic drain, haven’t been eating or sleeping well enough all while walking hundreds of miles, not to mention the fact that you weren’t particularly sturdy to begin with. It frankly astounds me that you’re still alive with all five senses and use of all your limbs. _And_ I know by now that you have a history of ignoring malaise for as long as it is possible to do so. So, don’t tell _me_ that you’re fine, young lady. I strongly encourage you to stay long enough for a more detailed check-up.”  
  
Nino groans, slumping back on the sofa. “Okay, fine,” she caves. “I doubt you’ll find anything unusual, but fine.”  
  
“The problem therein lies that “usual” for you is four different nutrient deficiencies when there needn’t be any,” Lucius replies. “There are some things that I cannot change. I cannot cure hay fever or anemia or fatigue. But I can get you the supplements you need that, even in the absence of a proper diet, will prevent the _worst_ from happening, provided you take them faithfully.”  
  
So maybe Nino had kind of forgotten said supplements back in Ilia. She probably would’ve run out by now, anyway. She sighs, nodding to Lucius. “Alright, Father Lucius,” she says obligingly.  
  
“I’d like to take a look at Hugh as well, while you’re here,” Lucius suggests, nodding to Hugh. “He seems healthy, but it can’t hurt.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Nino admits. “We’ll be out of your way in a few days.”  
  
Lucius smiles benignly, leaning back in his rocking chair. “That sounds just wonderful.”  
  
LIX.  
  
Hugh is perfectly healthy. Nino is not, but as long as she doesn’t do anything stupid like try to use a lot of magic, Lucius says she’ll be fine. Which Nino can’t say she didn’t expect— Lucius is usually right, even if she doesn’t like it.  
  
The least Nino can do is make him cookies for his trouble. Naturally, she also has to make cookies for the entire orphanage. It’s only fair. She’s read the recipe card for Hector’s cookies so many times, she’s memorized it, but it doesn’t hurt to have it on hand. At the end of the day there are two dozen ginger cookies cooling on the kitchen countertops and a crowd of eight children, Hugh included, ranging in age from toddlers to preteens peering into the kitchen and glancing from the cookies to Nino to Lucius, waiting for permission.  
  
The kids love them. All of them thank Nino for it, some with prompting and some without. Nino’s ears turn pink and stay that shade until they’ve all gone to bed and it’s just her, Lucius, and Raven. Raven jots down a copy of the recipe. He claims it’s because he has better handwriting than Lucius, but Nino knows it’s for the kids.  
  
It’s that stage of winter where there’s snow on the ground, but it’s bright and the days are notably longer. Icicles hanging on eaves drip freezing cold water onto unlucky pedestrians. The inch or so of powdery snow on the ground melts into slush which turns the ground to mud and the orphanage floors to an absolute mess. Nino takes to setting a mop by the front door and another by the back door for quick response when the inevitable comes. This is the mark of the space between Hearthkeep and the new year, when the world is just waiting for the winter to be over (except in Ilia. In Ilia they’re humoring the rest of the continent and changing to next year’s calendar, and then looking out at the snow on the mountains that won’t melt until mid-spring with resigned disdain).  
  
Hugh makes fast friends with the other children. Nino isn’t surprised— making friends is easy when you’re not-quite-four. They’re all duly impressed with Hugh’s reed flute and how big a sound it can make, and Nino is mostly glad that Morgenstern Manor is far enough outside Araphen city limits that they won’t get noise complaints. Raven suggests investing in earplugs.  
  
Nino knows they’ll have to go eventually, but that time hasn’t come. It’s too cold to travel, really— winter’s last hurrah before spring finally breaks through the frozen soil. Nino has had quite enough traveling through the cold. It’s honestly lucky that she and Hugh made it through the desert. She likes staying with Lucius and Raven, but there’s still that ever-present feeling that it’s only temporary. It doesn’t feel right, somehow, to be staying in this particular place, as homey as it is, and even though it was where she was born and where her family lived for generations. She keeps busy. She helps with the chores as much as Lucius and Raven will let her, and she plays with the kids. Other times, she goes over her packing list. It makes her feel a little more secure to have everything packed.  
  
There’s still some things she needs. A compass, most importantly— Jan broke theirs by accident back in Bern City, and Nino had forgotten to replace it before leaving because she’d been in kind of a big hurry. Raven tells her that there might be one down in the basement, all stuff that was in the house before they bought it, but he couldn’t say where to look. It’s pretty full of junk.  
  
He’s right. There’s so much junk, in fact, that Nino has no idea where to even start. There’s an entire house’s worth of furniture down here, not to mention the mysteries that lurk in the bureaus and wardrobes and trunks. Her candle only barely cuts through the gloom, but it’s enough to see by, sort of. She opens drawers and storage chests in the hopes of finding her quarry, but comes up empty, only finding moth balls and dead bugs and clothes that nobody’s worn in years.  
  
Nino had thought it was just Jan who kept loads of stuff that he never used just because it might come in handy. Apparently, it’s not.  
  
She elbows past an old wardrobe and nearly trips over a box— a toybox, if she’s not mistaken, but whatever toys it held are elsewhere. There’s no compass in sight, but something does catch her eye— a box full of rolled-up canvases. Nino sets the candle down on a clear spot of floor and rolls one out. It’s not a huge portrait. It’s dusty and yellowed with age, but the image is still clear— two identical men, standing side by side with their wives, both of them holding a set of two identical babies. Twins, Nino guesses. Two sets of twins, and their fathers were twins, too. Nino wonders what it’s like to have a twin. (She wonders what kind of man Kai would have become.)  
  
She holds the candle a little closer, as close as she dares, and realizes that both the men have green hair, as does each baby, in tiny wisps. And then she sees the name in a banner at the bottom of the portrait: _Morgenstern_.  
  
Nino nearly drops the candle. She picks up the painting and looks at it closer, as if she could somehow recognize people she’s never met. When that, obviously, doesn’t work, she turns the painting over and finds what she’s looking for in the form of a small note on the back. _938_ , it says. Edwin & Marcus w. Abigail and Nadine. Ed Jr. & Ruth, age 1. Iris & Ivy, age 8 mo.  
  
Iris and Ivy. Nino wishes she had some way to tell which was which. She really ought to have some Twin Sense for it, or something, she thinks, knowing full well that that’s bullshit and there’s no such thing. She sets the painting aside and looks at the next one. Then the next. Then the next. And they’re all Morgensterns, with that awful family resemblance that means Nino sees ghosts of herself in every Morgenstern face, sees echoes of what she once had in every writing of the name in the painting.  
  
Morgenstern once meant something. _Her_ name, _Eponine Morgenstern_ , once meant something.  
  
If things had gone differently, then it still would.  
  
Something else catches her eye. It’s the corner of a tome, tarnished silver around battered leather, under a stack of tablecloths. Nino pushes the tablecloths aside and picks up the book. She flips through the frayed pages. It’s not a tome, not in the way the tomes Nino fought with during the war were tomes. Those are pages filled with the magical signatures of a specific _spell_. This one is less a tome and more a grimoire, a compendium of incantations for one specific _mage_ , attuned to their magic signature and affinity. Nino’s only ever seen one, and it was only once, when Canas was teaching her the basics of magic theory. Of course, then he’d taken his grimoire with him when he and Ivy went to look for survivors…  
  
Nino turns to the bookplate on the inside cover. _Iris Morgenstern_ , it reads.  
  
She should put it back. She should put all of this away, roll the paintings back up and put them back in the box, put the tome down and leave and never look back. She doesn’t need ghosts of people she doesn’t remember crawling up her back. She needs to pull the air back into her lungs and get back up and keep walking, keep walking, keep looking for that home that may not even exist instead of lingering in this home that wasn’t meant to be.  
  
And yet, she can’t put the book down.  
  
Iris Morgenstern. Her handwriting is all loops and swirls. She dotted the i with an open circle. It’s round and meandering where Ivy’s was jagged and sharp, wide-set where Ivy’s was narrow. Nino has read books about children finding something that belonged to their lost parents, and it often contains a letter to them, somehow— somehow it’s always exactly what they needed to hear. Nino likes to think she knows better than to dream about that. She knows how to think things through logically, so she figures that neither of her parents would’ve been able to write her, specifically, anything at all, because they died so suddenly, unexpectedly. They’d been young parents of twin toddlers— hardly the kind of people that think about writing letters in case their children end up orphaned (even it’s only one of them).  
  
There’s nothing like that in Iris’s tome. It’s all incantations and component lists and notes on theory, all frayed edges and dog-eared corners and bookmarks made from loose pieces of ribbon that are all stiff and creased with age and dust. It’s page after page of spells and diagrams. It’s, honestly, not particularly unusual as far as grimoires go— Nino imagines that _she’ll_ find it interesting to learn from, considering that she has never once found an academic topic she didn’t like ( _give it time,_ Ivy had said wryly)— but Nino’s not reading the pages full of notes. She’s seeing extra bits in the margins, written in the modern tongue instead of mages’ script. She’s seeing thumbnail sketches of sigils and casting circles. She’s seeing numbers from experiments on the next page over. She’s seeing _compare notes with Canas_ and _compatible with healing magic?_ and _test theory on staff imbuing_ and _father’s birthday: 21 procyon— DON’T FORGET!!_ And it’s just a whole assortment of little thoughts and reminders strewn through the pages of a grimoire, and Nino hasn’t realized until now how much it would mean to see not her name or any heartfelt last words, but mundane things that ordinary people think about. It feels silly. She can’t even explain why.  
  
Perhaps it’s because it’s proof that her mother is more than a face in her locket and a name spoken with fond remembrance. Perhaps it’s because it’s proof that Nino didn’t just come from the space her parents left.  
  
She’s not crying. But she kind of wishes she was— her chest aches, and she can’t breathe, and the world is grinding to a halt around her and the force of what she’s feeling and there’s absolutely nothing to show for it.  
  
LX.  
  
Lucius and Raven have done good things with Morgenstern Manor. Ghosts aside, Nino knows that it’ll be a good place for all the kids they’re caring for to grow up— a good place for Lucius to keep following the Saint in his own way, a good place for kids to be until they find somewhere else. She knows how happy Lucius must be, and it’s all justifiable. He loves what he does, and Nino is happy for him.  
  
“It’s starting to warm again,” Lucius notices, nodding to the window outside the living room. “Are you going to continue towards Pherae soon?”  
  
“I guess so,” Nino realizes. “I should check our supplies again. I keep forgetting.”  
  
Lucius hums. “You know,” he says. “My offer is still open. We will be a home for you and Hugh as long as you need. You could even plan to stay, should you choose to. You’ve been a wonderful help, with Serra back in Ostia.”  
  
Nino smiles a little, then goes back to stitching up a hole in Hugh’s overalls. “It’s very kind of you to offer, Father Lucius, but we’re not—“  
  
It hits her. Her hand stops mid-stitch. Lucius notices.  
  
“Is everything alright?” he asks.  
  
Nino hesitates. “I suppose we _are_ orphans, technically, both of us,” she says. “Me and Hugh. I don’t know why I didn’t remember that right away.”  
  
She shakes her head. “Well, _I_ still couldn’t stay. Too many ghosts. I don’t really know where I’m going, but I’d rather it be somewhere that doesn’t already know me. And Hugh—“  
  
It hits her. Lucius and Raven have built a home here, and maybe it’s not Nino’s, but it’s way safer than a life on the road. Nino doesn’t know where she’s going or where she’ll end up or even when that’ll be. It’s not exactly conducive to raising a child, is it? Besides that, Nino is hardly ready. She knows what she’s walked into and all, but there’s no reason to stick with it when there’s a far better option.  
  
She could do it. She could leave Hugh here and go to Pherae alone.  
  
Lucius must notice her hands shaking, because he leans over and sets one of his on top of them. “You needn’t make a decision right away,” he says gently. “I understand that this place must feel strange to you.”  
  
“It’s not that,” Nino admits. “Father Lucius, could I… what if I left Hugh with you, and went to Pherae alone? That’d be better for us in the long run. The road is no place to raise a child, you know that, and… and I’m not ready anyway. I never was. I brought Hugh with me out of necessity, but there’s no reason to keep him with me if there’s a better option for us both.”  
  
Lucius frowns. He pulls his hand back and scoots a little closer to her on the couch. “Tell me more,” he says.  
  
“I’m not ready to raise anyone,” she repeats. “I’m— I can barely take care of myself. You know that better than anyone. I’m just some dumb kid who can’t let go of the past. I have no business raising Hugh when you and Sir Raven are right here, and you actually know what you’re doing. You could give him a better home and family than I ever could.”  
  
Lucius considers this. “Perhaps you’re _not_ ready,” he says. “But I’d hardly call you a dumb kid, Nino. You know you’re the only family he has left.”  
  
Nino chuckles halfheartedly. “Yeah, a cousin without any memories of anyone who came before, except a year with his parents, and that’s hardly anything. He’d learn more about the Morgensterns by looking at the stuff in the basement.”  
  
“I won’t argue with you,” Lucius admits. “Do you truly want to leave Hugh with us, Nino? It’s your choice to make.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Nino mumbles. “But why shouldn’t I? Hugh will hate me for it, but— but let him! It’s the better choice. I don’t know anyone I’d trust more to keep him safe than the two of you.”  
  
“I see.” Lucius’s face is unreadable. It often is, from years of practice. “Nino, if this is what you _truly_ think is best, then Raven and I will gladly take Hugh in. And, obviously, I can’t speak for you. But…”  
  
Nino nods, staying quiet so he can keep talking.  
  
“You and I know better than anyone that family is what you make it,” he says. “But we also know that there is something to be said for knowing one’s roots. And perhaps Hugh _could_ learn the names of the Morgensterns and the dates they died by staying in this house. It’s one of the only options he has.  
  
“But,” he continues. “He still has you. And you are alive, and you love him, and you have done your best to care for him. One’s name always means more when one learns about it through someone who’s still living, rather than some dusty old books.  
  
“You are his family,” he says. “You’re a caregiver. It’s a big role, true, but it’s one you face. It comes in many forms— be it Father, or Mamabird… or Meemo.” He smiles a little. “But you must already know what you’re up against.”  
  
Nino shakes her head. “I can’t do it justice,” she says. “I don’t remember any of— of the _glory_ or whatever.”  
  
“It’s not about glory,” Lucius replies. “It’s about knowing that you came from somewhere. That you’re a part of something. That you exist in this world not as an extra, an unintended addition to a place that already had all it’d asked for. Old books and paintings can’t give him that, Nino. You can.”  
  
Her vision grows blurry. Nino rubs her eyes. Why does Lucius have to be _right_ all the time? “What if I can’t raise him?” she asks. “I don’t know how to raise a child. I know how to keep one alive, but there’s a difference.”  
  
“The fact that you know there’s a difference is already more than can be said for many parents out there,” Lucius replies. “I find that it’s easy, for people like you and I, to doubt ourselves when it comes to caring for others. After all, nobody cared for us, so how do we know that we’re doing it right? Saint Elimine only has so many answers.”  
  
“So much for piety being the answer to one’s problems,” Nino mumbles.  
  
Lucius smiles wryly. “Only a fool would rely solely on faith.  Nino, you sell yourself short at every turn— perhaps this is the pot calling the kettle black, but you know that you do. You are capable of so much more than you think you are.”  
  
Nino’s quiet. She rubs the tears away from her face. She’s very tired of almost-crying. It does nothing to ease the tightness inside her chest— tightness that isn’t her bad lungs.  
  
Lucius rubs her shoulder. “I will not tell you what to do,” he says. “I will support you in whatever you end up choosing. But please, take into account your own abilities.”  
  
She breathes. He’s right. Lucius is often right. Nino knows it’s because he gets it better than most would. She wonders if knowing the right thing to say is an Elimine thing or a Lucius thing, and wouldn’t be surprised if the former led to the latter.  
  
“Okay,” she says. “Okay. I’ll think on it more.”  
  
LXI.  
  
It’s still winter— the spring constellation doesn’t come up for another week or so, but this far south, it’s stopped snowing so much, and the winter sunlight has turned what’s left into icy, muddy slush. Raven grumbles as he and Nino mop up mud from the front hall floors— Raven grumbles about a lot of things, but Nino notices that he does them anyway. Not that she’s going to point this out, of course.  
  
It’s time to leave. Nino finds a compass (Raven found one in a hatbox upstairs) and gets the bag together. She has Pherae circled on her map. For her, it’s about a week and a half away. She’s packed the necessities and enough food for the trip. She hopes that Pherae will be the end of the journey— it’s been a year, now, and she’s more than ready to stop walking for a while.  
  
“And you’re sure?” Lucius asks her, as she’s standing on the porch with her bag on her back.  
  
Nino nods. “I thought about it a lot. You helped me come to a decision. Hugh?”  
  
Hugh looks up. His shoes are still undone and his coat is still unbuttoned. “I didn’t buttoned it,” he says.  
  
“You want me to help?” Nino asks him. Hugh nods. Nino crouches and helps him push the buttons through the holes.  
  
“Safe travels, then,” Lucius says. “Do tell Lord Eliwood and Lady Ninian I say hello.”  
  
“Tell Hector I’m still gonna kick his ass one of these days,” Raven adds.  
  
Lucius thumps him. “Raymond! Not in front of the children.”  
  
“I thought you told me the cookie recipe made up for all of that,” Nino asks, moving onto Hugh’s shoelaces.  
  
“Nah, see, that doesn’t count,” Raven insists. “Because _you_ gave me that recipe. _Hector’s_ not off the hook.”  
  
Nino rolls her eyes. “Sure, I’ll pass that along,” she says. “Alright, Hugh, how’s that?”  
  
Hugh nods in approval. “Thank you, Meemo!”  
  
“If you’re ever in the area, do stop by for a visit,” Lucius says. “We would love to have you. You’re part of the family.”  
  
Part of the family. That settles in warm and comfortable in Nino’s gut. “Yeah,” she says. “I guess I am, huh?”  
  
Hugh tugs on her hand. “We’re goin’ to Fray,” he says. “Right, Meemo?”  
  
“We _are_ going to Pherae,” Nino agrees. “Are you ready to go?”  
  
“Mm-hmm,” Hugh agrees. “I telled everyone bye-bye and I love you and now we can go.”  
  
Nino breathes, looking back at the road leading out of Araphen. “On the road again,” she mumbles. “Let’s hope it’s the last trip we have to take. Let’s hope this is home.”


	13. LXII-LXVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And if it takes forever..._

LXII.   
  
Nino and Hugh observe the new year on the side of the road with a sky full of stars overhead. Nino spots Procyon in the sky, glittering bright and heralding spring. The grass pokes through the thin layers of slush and mud. It’s 982, and nothing really feels any different, but it’s nice to know that it’s officially spring.  
  
When they reach Pherae, the people are cleaning up from the new year’s celebration. The city’s in high spirits, and it’s not hard to figure why— the war is a year past, their Lord Eliwood is back (with a woman, no less), repairs are well underway if not already complete, and commerce is flowing again.  
  
Pherae isn’t nearly as big as Bern City was, but all the activity makes it feel larger than it actually is— and, to be fair, it’s a pretty good-size city in the first place. Lycia’s climate is, in general, about the same temperature as Bern’s, but Lycia has the advantage of not being a desert, so its land is lush and fertile. Pherae itself is right on the sea, so it’s cooler and wetter than it would be further inland. Even if the ocean breeze is chilly, it’s refreshing compared to the dry cold of the desert.   
  
Despite the chill, Pherae is bustling. Fishing boats and merchant ships bob in the harbor, bells clanging and flags flapping. Seagulls perch on what seems to be every available surface. Further back from the harbor, merchants hawk their goods and put up signs for new years’ sales. Castle Pherae sits in the center of it all, looking proud without looking pompous. It’s really a nice place to be— especially after all that walking.   
  
Hugh, for obvious reasons, has never seen the ocean, so Nino takes him down to the shoreline. Nobody’s going out at this time of year, so they have the place to themselves. Hugh stares, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the wide expanse of sea.  
  
“It’s a big river,” he says.   
  
“It’s an ocean,” Nino corrects him. “It’s way bigger than a river, and it’s different. Go closer and see.”  
  
Hugh blinks. He slowly lets go of Nino’s hand and ventures onto the beach. Sand is a new experience, too— not too different from snow, which Hugh’s toddled through countless times, but different enough it throws him off. He crouches on the sand as his little boots sink into it. Unsteady on his feet, he falls back and lands on his seat.   
  
He grabs a handful of the coarse sand and picks it up. Granules fall through his pudgy little fingers. He watches in awe as they leave his hand with barely any left. Then he picks up another handful and shoves it in his mouth.  
  
Nino hurries forward as if she’ll need to make him spit it out, but he does that without her help and makes a face.   
  
“Don’t like it,” he says.  
  
“You’re not supposed to eat sand, Hugh,” Nino says. “Would you pick up a handful of dirt and eat it?”  
  
“No!” Hugh says firmly. “It’s the worms’ house!”  
  
“Well, there are creatures living in sand, too,” Nino replies.  “Like crabs and things. You know, with the pinchy claws?”  
  
Hugh blinks. “Ohh.” The world is full of things to learn when you’re not-quite-four. “We sawed those in the market!”   
  
“We did!” Nino says. She takes his little hand and wipes off the sand. “We should get going. It’s too cold to get much closer. I don’t want you to get sick.”  
  
“It’s lotta water,” Hugh says. “I wanna see the fish, Meemo.”  
  
“They’re deeper in the water,” Nino tells him. “Not this far up on the shore. They wouldn’t be able to get back in.”  
  
“Oh.” Hugh nods. “What ‘bout the markess?”  
  
Nino tries very hard not to laugh. “Lord Eliwood isn’t a fish, Hugh. He’s a person.”  
  
Hugh looks suspicious. “Fish person.”  
  
“You know what, maybe,” Nino decides. “You can ask him yourself when we go up to the castle. That’s where we’ll go next.”  
  
LXIII.   
  
Castle Pherae is no exception to the aura of cheer that permeates the city. Given what Nino knows about Eliwood, this is no surprise. He always did have a way of keeping morale up— not sunshiney optimism, quite, but a sort of resolve that kept the dread away. He genuinely cares about everyone around him, and gives heavy consideration to how his actions influence others. Eliwood is a young man who knows the power the right words have over the right people, and chooses them accordingly. Nino doesn’t know him or Hector as well as she knows Lyn, but given how close the three of them are, it’s hard to know one without knowing the other two.  
  
Unsurprisingly, it’s very easy for Nino to get an audience. Eliwood beams when he sees her coming, and it warms up the entire room. He’s standing with Ninian and in the middle of talking to a group of retainers— at least he is until he sees Nino. He dismisses them and waves to her instead.   
  
“It’s so good to see you again, Nino,” he says to her. “How long has it been? Almost two years, hasn’t it?”  
  
“Something like that,” Nino shrugs. “How is it being the Marquess of Pherae?”  
  
Eliwood chuckles abashedly. “I’m not Marquess _quite_ yet. My mother is still acting Marchioness until I’m finished with school. What brings you to Pherae?”  
  
Nino had been prepared for him to ask that, but that doesn’t make it easy. “I, ah…” she trails off. “Oh, Lady Ninian!”  
  
Ninian smiles at her. “Hello, Nino!” she says. She’s much more cheerful now, now that Nino thinks about it, than Nino remembers her being during the war. She hopes it’s a good sign, that she’s handling Nils being gone well. Nino doesn’t really remember what it’s like to have a brother, but she can imagine that it’d hurt to lose one.  
  
“How are you finding Pherae?” Nino asks her. “I imagine it’s better, now that there’s no war and such.”  
  
“Oh, it’s been wonderful,” Ninian agrees. “It’s a beautiful city, and Lady Eleanora has been very kind to me.”   
  
Hugh peers out from behind Nino’s skirt and looks at Ninian, mesmerized by the subtle point of her ears, the smattering of pale green scales across her skin at her fingertips, her neck, her cheeks. He looks from Ninian to Eliwood and back.   
  
Eliwood notices first. “Ah, hello,” he says to Hugh, smiling amicably. “And what might your name be?”  
  
Hugh ducks his head. “Hugh,” he says quietly. He looks up at Nino for support.   
  
“Canas’s son,” Nino fills in. “Last winter, there was an avalanche, and Canas and my aunt Ivy didn’t make it.”  
  
Ninian’s ears droop. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she says empathetically. “Are you doing alright?”  
  
“We get by,” Nino shrugs. “We stayed in Bern for a while but that, ah, fell through. I figured somewhere like Pherae would be best. The cold and the mountain air don’t really do my lungs any favors, and I’m at least trying to do what Lucius says.”  
  
“Well, that’s good,” Eliwood says. “Do you have somewhere to stay? I can make arrangements for somewhere for you in the city, or on the outskirts.”  
  
“Are you a fish?” Hugh finally asks, looking at Eliwood.   
  
Eliwood blinks. “Not that I know of?”  
  
“There you go, Hugh, that’s your answer,” Nino says, grateful for the change in topic. “I told him about Pherae a bit while we were on the way form Bern. He heard about the ocean, and got it in his head that you were a fish. Sorry.”  
  
Eliwood chuckles. “No, no, I don’t mind. Anything is better than the questions my homework asks.”  
  
“I never thought _you’d_ be a procrastinator,” Nino remarks. “You were always the responsible one.”  
  
“Next to Lyn and Hector, that’s not hard,” he says wryly.   
  
Another retainer enters the room. “Lord Eliwood,” he says. “Forgive the interruption, milord, but a matter with House Tyrrhen requires your attention.”  
  
Eliwood sighs. “It’s always the Tyrrhens, isn’t it,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, Nino, we’ll have to pick this up another time. How long are you staying?”  
  
“I don’t know yet,” Nino admits. “But I’ll be sure to let you know. Come on, Hugh, let’s head back to the market.”  
  
LXIV.   
  
Nino wishes she had some clue of what she’s doing. She hadn’t managed to bring up the house thing with Eliwood— which is fine, because she isn’t sure she could’ve managed it anyway— so, logically, she should find them an inn. Suffice to say, this does not happen.  
  
The market is crowded with farmers bringing in goods from their fields. Nino’s grown to like the clamor of a busy marketplace— she likes people, and she likes existing in a space where other people are. It keeps the loneliness away. Pherae’s market is no different. People shop, sell, barter, and do business in the square full of tents and stalls. There’s a fountain in the middle. This one looks old, and it has the likeness of one of the seven gods— the sea god, if Nino isn’t mistaken. Appropriate, considering where they are.   
  
Nino examines a cart with fresh parsnips and fragrant rosemary. Jan’s neighbor had a rosemary shrub on her roof, but Nino had never had the chance to see it— or smell it— up close. She rubs her thumb across a sprig and breathes in the fresh, herbal scent.   
  
“Hugh, look at this,” she says. “Rosemary. Smell it.”  
  
She holds out a sprig. Hugh sniffs it, then reels and coughs at the unexpected strength. Nino chuckles, and puts the rosemary back. “Too much?” she asks. Hugh sneezes.   
  
Someone else approaches the other side of the cart. Nino isn’t looking at them, instead looking over the heads of winter squash and wondering if they can eat it fresh. And that’s how it stays until they speak.  
  
“Morning, Anna,” they say cheerfully to the merchant. “You got the missive, right? Has the wheat come through?”  
  
“Oh, you’re right on time,” the merchant says. “Yes, ma'am, the wheat just got here the day before last. I already sent it up to the mills— they paid _quite_ a handsome sum, you know. But that’s only fair, for Artia wheat!”  
  
Artia. Where has Nino heard that town name before?  
  
The customer chuckles. “Well, I’ll tell the farmers you said so.”   
  
“Oh, don’t be afraid to take some of the credit,” the merchant chides. “After all, _who’s_ running the town? None other than Magistrate Greenfinch.”  
  
Greenfinch. Nino jerks her head up at the name. She sees the merchant, short and jovial and redheaded (and oddly familiar, but she doesn’t really pay it much mind then), but more importantly, she sees who the merchant is talking to. It’s a young woman, not much older than Nino but quite a bit taller, with calluses on her fingers, freckles on her cheeks, and green hair in a braid. One braid— Nino remembers two.   
  
“Aw, come on,” she says humbly. “Magistrate Greenfinch was my father. Just call me Rebecca.”  
  
LXV.   
  
There are moments, sometimes, when it feels like the world slows down. When time itself pivots around you and you watch everything stop while the world is completely unaware. When the only thing that matters is right in front of you, and it’s the only thing you can think about. When the stars align, and you get the sense that this thing is the thing you were put on the world to experience— the sense that _this_ is what you were meant to see, that what’s happening exists for you and you exist for it. Moments like how it must be to meet a soulmate: your eyes meet, and the world melts away, and both of you know, with every fiber of your being, that you were born to meet each other.  
  
This is not one of those moments.   
  
Rebecca’s eyes light up when she spots Nino. For a moment she blinks as if she can’t quite place her face, but it’s just a moment— Nino’s face, if only because of the burn scars, is quite distinctive, even if it’s a couple years older by now. She smiles, her freckled cheeks dimpling in genuine delight.   
  
“Wow, Nino?” she says, hurrying around to the other side of the cart. “It’s been ages! I thought you were up in Ilia!”  
  
Nino shrugs. “It’s a long story. Did you get taller?”  
  
“Mm, nah,” Rebecca replies. “I think you shrank.”  
  
“Oh, _wonderful_.”   
  
“It’s so good to see you again,” she says. “How have you been? What have you gotten up to?”  
  
“That’s… _also_ a long story,” Nino admits. She bites at her lip, trying to figure out how to say what she needs to say. She wants to break under the weight of it all, to cave and know that she has a friend there to keep her from falling. It’s very tempting. It’s Rebecca, after all— Nino has a complicated relationship with trust, but whether or not she trusts Rebecca has never been a question.   
  
“Hey, you haven’t met my cousin,” Nino says, leaning down and putting a hand on Hugh’s back. Hugh has hidden his face in her skirt, as he does when there are strangers around. Cautiously, he looks up, peering at Rebecca with most of his face still hidden.   
  
“Your cousin?” Rebecca repeats.  
  
“Canas’ son,” Nino clarifies. She purses her lips. “The winter before last, there was this avalanche, and…”   
  
Rebecca understands. “Ah,” she says. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Not your fault.” Nino shakes her head. “We couldn’t stay in Ilia because… well, we couldn’t stay. We’ve been traveling around since then. I came to Pherae to see if Lord Eliwood’s offer to find me somewhere was still open. Not that it helped any, because I couldn’t make myself ask…” she chuckles abashedly. “You know how it is.”  
  
“Well, I’m no Marquess,” Rebecca says. “And I can’t solve your problem with a wave of my hand, but if you want to come over for a meal, I won’t say no. It’s only a couple hours to Artia, and it probably beats some drafty inn room, right?”  
  
Nino feels relief lift a weight from her chest. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, you’d be right about that.”  
  
LXVI.   
  
Artia is a modest-sized little town settled along the river, big enough to have a main street and small enough that pretty much everyone knows Rebecca. Nino feels the townsfolk’s eyes linger on her, wondering who she is, who the child is, why their magistrate smiles at her so. But Rebecca doesn’t care as she leads them through the town, down dirt roads through sprawling fields of wheat and corn and lavender, until they reach a house that’s no bigger or grander than any others they’ve passed.  
  
It’s no Morgenstern Manor, but it’s a good-sized place, all green shingles and weathered clapboard. There’s a lopsided barn painted red, as barns often are, for reasons Nino doesn’t know, and a fenced-off garden area, and the sound of chickens somewhere around the back. It has a covered front porch with a rocking chair. There are flowerbeds out front, though the only thing they hold is weeds.  
  
“Ma used to tend to ‘em,” Rebecca explains. “Dad did, after she died, but his time came last summer, and I’ve been too busy to keep up, so I had to clear ‘em out and put ‘em in the compost heap so they wouldn’t stink up the front walk.”  
  
“Oh,” Nino says. “So you’ve been here alone?”  
  
“It’s not so bad,” Rebecca says. “The worst is over. The town’s so small and I have to deal with basically everyone, so it’s hard to feel lonely. Plus, Wil’s only a couple hours away, and he visits every weekend.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Nino says.   
  
Rebecca shrugs. “I get by. Have you had lunch yet?”  
  
“You don’t have to feed us—“  
  
“Just for that, I’m making you something.” Rebecca pauses, and checks her icebox. “Well, I hope you like salt pork.”  
  
Nino sits down at the dining table. Hugh wiggles into the chair next to her. Rebecca sets a big slab of salt pork on the countertop and starts cutting off slices while Hugh bounces his heels against the spindle.  
  
“So,” Rebecca says. “I don’t really think it’s a question of if Lord Eliwood will find a place for you to stay in Pherae. I think it’s a question of if you’re going to take him up on it.”  
  
“Well, that was my plan,” Nino admits. “I just have to ask him. But I don’t know, I don’t want to impose. And I don’t even know if I can live by myself and raise Hugh, too. But I don’t know if anyone will take me in, and I don’t want to go to some stranger anyway, and…”  
  
She trails off. Rebecca’s looking at the block of salt pork and not at Nino, but Nino knows she’s listening because she pauses for thought, looks up at Nino, and then back to what she’s doing.  
  
“Don’t let me tell you what to do,” Rebecca says. “But you know my doors are open for you, any day, any season. As long as you need. And I know that _you’re_ not going to asks this, so let me say it instead.”  
  
She sets her knife down and looks back up. “Stay with me,” she says. “It’s not gonna be a glamorous or easy life, but it’s my home, and it can be yours, too. How’s that sound?”  
  
Nino feels a lump in her throat. She rubs her eyes to try and stop the tears from coming despite knowing it won’t work, but they’re not bad tears and it feels like she needs to let them go, if only just this once.   
  
She swallows hard. “It sounds great,” she says. “Hear that, Hugh?”  
  
Hugh nods. “No more walking?”  
  
“No more walking,” Nino promises. “Right here. This is home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how's that for a slow burn huh


End file.
